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ERE stands a house all built of thought, 
And full to overflowing 
Of treasures and of precious things, 
Of secrets for my knowing. 
Its windows look out far and wide 
From each of all its stories. 
I'll take the key and enter in; 
For me are all its glories. 

Copyright, 1921 
All Rights Reserved 

Printed in U. $. A. 


P (Greek, About 619-564 B. C.) 
 OMEWHERE in ancient Greece, the land of white- 
' pillared cities and stately marble temples, was born 
 the little slave boy, Aesop. While he was still a 
child, Aesop was brought to the far-famed city of 
- Athens. There he was sold, like an ox or a sheep, from 
one master to another and performed in each household the hard 
and thankless duties of a slave. Nevertheless, he was always 
enlivening his tasks by the brightest and cleverest sallies of wit, 
which often threw his comrades into gales of laughter. 
Once, it is said, he and his fellow slaves were about to set out 
on a long journey with a certain merchant who was their master. 
Heavy bundles of necessary clothing and provisions were prepared 
for each of the slaves to carry. 
"Master, grant me to carry the lightest bundle," cried Aesop. 
"Sobeit[ Select the lightest," his master answered. 
Immediately Aesop stepped forward and chose the heaviest 
and most unwieldy package of all, a bulky basket of bread. His 
comrades laughed at what they considered his foolishness, but 
when the noon meal came Aesop was ordered to distribute half 
his loaves among the party. Thus his load was lightened at the 
very time when the burdens of the others began to seem heavier and 
heavier from their having borne them so long. By supper time 
Aesop was ordered to distribute the rest of his bread and for the 
remainder of the journey he had nothing left to carry but the 
empty basket. His companions, as they trudged on, perspiring 
and weary, could not but admit that they had been the foolish 
ones and in spite of their burdens, they smiled at the joke which 
Aesop's quick wit and foresight had played upon their stupidity. 
At last the young slave's cleverness caught the attention of his 
master, Iadmon, the Samian, and as a fitting reward, Iadmon set 
him free. Thereupon, Aesop journeyed to the magnificent court of 
Croesus, King of Lydia, with whom he came into high favor. 

Thenceforward, during the rest of his life, he who had been born 
a slave associated intimately with the greatest men of letters of 
his day, and none among them could turn a fable so perfectly 
as he, could pack so much truth into a story so short, pithy and 
exactly to the point. 
At length Aesop was sent as the ambassador of Croesus to 
Delphi, with instructions to pay a certain sum of money to each 
of the citizens there. On his arrival, however, he found the Del- 
phians to be in some fault and fell into a dispute with them. As 
the discussion waxed warmer and warmer, he flatly refused to dis- 
tribute the money. Incensed at his conduct, the Delphians ac- 
cused him of sacrilege and hurled him headlong from a precipice 
to his death. 
People have always insisted on believing that, in appearance, 
Aesop was a monster of ugliness and deformity, and so he is most 
often represented. This story, however, appears to be utterly 
without foundation and was probably invented long after his death, 
merely to make his wit seem more remarkable by contrast with 
such deformity. In truth, Aesop must have been unusually hand- 
some, since we are told that the Athenians erected in his honor 
a noble statue, by the famous sculptor, Lysippus. 
None of Aesop's works remain today. How many of the fables 
attributed to him were actually his is extremely uncertain. His 
tales were probably never written down but were passed about 
from mouth to mouth, just as men tell a good story today. Walk- 
ing two and two in the market place, or beneath the splendid 
porticoes of the public baths, the ancient Athenians repeated these 
fables to each other and chuckled over their cleverness, exactly as 
men enjoy telling each other witty stories to this very day. They 
were popular in Athens during the mot brilliant period of its 
literary history. Originally they were in prose, but in time were 
put into verse by various Greek and Latin poets. The most 
famous of these Latin poets was Phaedrus who lived at Rome in 


the first century A. D. Mere scraps of these early versions, how- 
ever, remain. In the fourteenth century, the monk Maximus 
Planudes made a collection which he gave out as Aesop's, but the 
truth is that he added to Aesop's fables a number taken from 
oriental sources. It is from this collection that the modem fables, 
as we know them, have been derived. Through all the ages no 
name shines more brightly for sage and clever wit than that of 
Aesop. Aesop for Children, illustrated by Milo Winter 
ALCOTT,* LOUISA MAY (American, 1832-1888) 
In the historic old town of Concord, Massachusetts, there lived 
once a strong, sturdy, jolly girl named Louisa Alcott. Louisa's 
home was a shabby, dingy old house, but it was full of simple happi- 
ness and its four bare walls rang often with shouts of merry laugh- 
ter. For Louisa had the tenderest, most loving mother imaginable, 
a wise, devoted father and three lively sisters, Anna, Beth and May. 
Over the hills behind old Concord, whence the green meadows 
swept away to meet the golden sunset, and down by the rush- 
bordered river that went slowly meandering through the town, the 
little girls loved to romp and play. 
*Read the Life of Louisa May Alcott by Belle Moses 


They weren't very well off, so far as money goes, those Alcotts. 
Mr. Alcott was a school teacher with an immense love for children 
and a beautiful way of teaching them, but he believed very earnest- 
ly that people should lead simpler, truer, more useful lives than 
they do, and his opinions as to how they should set about doing 
this were so different from those held by others that men laughed 
at him and said he was odd and would not send their children to 
his school. Moreover, he said plainly that the owning of slaves 
was wrong, and this made him still more unpopular in an age when, 
even in the North, men were not ready at all to agree with him. 
So he found it very difficult indeed to get along. But Mr. Alcott 
was the sort of man who was always loyal to the best ideas he knew 
and would cling to them with his whole strength, no matter what 
it cost him. Shoulder to shoulder with him stood his brave wife, 
always upholding him, working day and night with her capable 
hands to make his burdens lighter, cooking, sewing, cleaning. And 
in spite of all the hard work she did, she was never too tired to be 
gay and jolly and interested in all that interested her daughters. So 
the four little girls were brought up from their infancy in a world of 
simple living and high thinking. They had plenty of joyous, care- 
free fun in which both mother and father joined, but they began 
to understand very early the necessity for being useful and beating 
their share in the household tasks. Thus, though the house where 
they lived was poor and shabby, it was very rich in love and loyalty 
and simple homey joys. 
Louisa was a strong, active, handsome girl with blue eyes and a 
perfect mane of heavy chestnut hair. She could run for miles and 
miles and never get tired and she was as sturdy as a boy. Indeed, 
her mother used sometimes to call her Jo in fun and say that Jo was 

her only son. Jo loved to climb trees and leap fences, run races and 
roll hoops, and when she was not playing with her sistem she liked 
best to play with boys. But beside all these lively sports, Louisa 
liked, too, to curl herself up in a chair and read or study. Sometimes 
she would go off alone up into the garret, taking a pile of apples 
with her and her favorite book. There she would read and munch 
away in happy solitude. All day long she had interesting thoughts 
and often she wrote these down in her diary. She used to make up 
stories, too, and tell them to her sisters. 
On occasion, little Louisa could be a turbulent miss and her high 
spirits often led her into paths of strange adventure. Once, when 
she was very small and lived in Boston, she ran away from home 
and spent the day with some Irish children. They shared a very 
poor and very salty dinner with her, after which they all went to 
play in the nice, dirty, ash heaps. Late in the afternoon they took 
a daring trip as far away as Boston Common. When it began 
to grow dark, however, Louisa's little Irish friends deserted her, and 
there she was left all alone in a strange place with the dusky shad- 
ows deepening and the night lights twinkling out. Then, indeed, 
she began to long for home, but she hadn't the smallest idea which 
way to go and so wandered helplessly on and on. At last, quite 
wearied out, she sat down on a welcome doorstep beside a friendly 
big dog. The dog kindly allowed her to use his back for a pillow 
and she fell fast asleep. From her dreams she was roused by the 
voice of the town crier who had been sent in search of her by her 
distracted parents. He was ringing his bell and calling out loudly, 
"Lost! Lost! A little girl six years old in a pink frock, white hat 
and new green shoes!" 
Out of the darkness a small voice answered him,"Why dat's me !" 
Next day the little runaway was tied to the arm of a sofa to cure 
her of her wandering habit. 
When naughty traits of character got the better of Louisa, how- 
ever, she always suffered intensely in her own little heart for the 


wrong she had done. In the intervals of working off steam in the 
liveliest adventures, she was often sadly troubled by her faults. 
Sometimes, then, she had a little game she would play. She liked 
to make believe that she was a princess and that her kingdom was 
her own mind. When she had hateful, self-willed or dissatisfied 
thoughts, she tried to get rid of these by playing that they were 
enemies of her kingdom. She would marshal her legionv f soldiers 
and march them bravely against the foe. Her soldiers, she said, 
were Patience, Duty and Love. With these she fought her battles 
and drove out the enemy. When she was only fourteen years old 
she wrote a poem about this. 
A little kingdom I possess, 
Where thoughts and feelings dwell, 
And very hard I find the task 
Of governing it well. 
Nevertheless, after many a hotly contested battle, she did succeed 
in taking command and governing her kingdom like a queen. 
The house where the four girls lived in Concord had a yard full 
of fine old trees and a big barn which was their most particular 
delight. Here they produced many marvelous plays, for Anna and 
Louisa both had a wonderful talent for acting. They made the 
barn into a theatre and climbed up on the haymow for a stage. 
The grown people who came to see their plays would sit on chairs 
on the floor. One of the children's favorite plays was Jack and the 
Beanstalk. They had a ladder from the floor to the loft, and all the 
way up the ladder they tied a squash vine to look like the wonderful 
beanstalk. When it came to the place in the story where Jack was 
fleeing from the giant and the giant was hot on his heels, about to 
plunge down the beanstalk, the girl who took the part of Jack 
would cut down the vine with a mighty flourish while the audience 
held their breath. Then, crashing out of the loft to his well-deserved 
end below, would come the monstrous old giant. This giant was 
made of pillows dressed in a suit of funny old clothes, with a fierce, 
hideous head made of paper. 



Another play-which the children acted was Cinderella. They 
made a big pumpkin out of the wheelbarrow trimmed with yellow 
paper. Thus the pumpkin could easily become a golden coach in 
which Cinderella magnificently rolled away at a single stroke of 
the fairy godmother's wand. The tale of the foolish woman who 
wasted her three wishes was illustrated in a way to make the be- 
holders scream with laughter, by means of a pudding which was 
lowered by invisible hands until it rested upon the poor lady's nose. 
The costumes used in these performances were marvelous af- 
fairs, for Louisa, Anna and Mrs. Alcott had a wonderful knack for 
rigging up something out of nothing. A scrap found its use. A 
bright colored scarf, a table cover, a bit of old lace, a long cloak, a 
big hat with a plume stolen from some departed bonnet, would 
afford a regal costume in which to come sweeping on to the stage. 
The children were never at a lack, either, for scenery, for their ready 
wit was quite capable of providing castles, enchanted forests, caves 
or ladies' bowers. Barns offered splendid opportunities, too, for a 
hero or a villain to make desperate but safe leaps from the beams, 
or to sink out of sight, at short notice, into one of the various man- 
gers, and hence they had everything necessary right at hand. 


There was one other beautiful and much more serious story 
which the Alcott children loved to play, though they did not give 
this to an audience in the barn, but played it alone for their own 
amusement. This story was Pilgrim's Progress, in which the pil- 
grim, Christian, loaded do%aa with his burden of sins, finds his way 
through toil and danger from the City of Destruction to the Celes- 
tial City. Their mother used to tie her piece-bags on their backs to 
represent Christian's burden. Then they would put on broad- 
brimmed, pilgrim hats, take a stick for a staff and start out on their 
journey. From the cellar, which was the City of Destruction, they 
would mount to the housetop where was the Celestial City, and 
they would act out on the way, in most dramatic form, every step 
of Christian's upward progress. Sometimes, instead of playing 
Pilgrim's Progress indoors they would play it out of doors, wander- 
ing over the hills behind the house, through the woods and down 
the lanes. Louisa loved all these plays and, besides the old ones 
which they performed, she made up some new ones of her own, very 
thrilling and tragic and therefore, very funny. 
There could not have been a more beautiful place than Concord 

for four hearty, simple girls like these to live. It was a typical New 
England village, quiet and homelike, with its plain, white houses 
and its shady elm trees, nestling in its circle of peaceful hills. There 
were no very rich people there and none very poor. The inhabi- 
tants were honest and friendly, with simple occupations and amuse- 
ments and very few worldly ambitions. In the winter the place 
used to ring with the happy voices of young people skating on the 
hardened snow in the pine woods. In the summer the fiver would 
be alive with gay bathing or boating parties. Concord was an 
historic old place, too, with its memories of the first gun-shots of the 
Revolution, and many a time in the days of the Alcott girls, there 
used to be masquerades on the fine old fiver to celebrate the anni- 
versary of that great event. Gay barges full of historic characters 
in costume would glide down the stream, and sometimes savages 
in their war-paint would dart from the lily-fringed fiver banks to 
attack the gay masqueraders. Hearty and healthy was the life in 
Concord and it produced a fine race of people, among them three, 
at least, of most remarkable character. These three were Emerson, 
Hawthorne and Thoreau, and though these men were much older 
than Louisa, they were all of them her friends. 
Ralph Waldo Emerson was one of the greatest men in the 
history of American literature. He was a thinker, a philosopher 
and a poet, strong, gentIe and serene. He had stood by Mr. Alcott 
when everybody else laughed at him and deserted him, and from 
her earliest recollections Louisa had adored him. Once she went 
to school with the little Emersons in their father's barn, for in those 
days of no public schools, teachers used frequently to gather their 
pupils together in barns. -The illustrious Mr. Emerson was often 
the children's playfellow. He would pile all the youngsters on a 
great hay-cart and take them off to picnic or go berrying in the 
woods. Emerson's friend, Henry Thoreau, who loved the tangled 
depths of the forests, had once gone off and lived by himself in a 
hut that he built on the edge of Walden Pond, to prove to himself 

and others the joy of utterly simple living, close to the heart of 
Nature. The hut was in a beautiful spot among fragrant pines and 
overlooked the clear, green depths of the pond which Thoreau, 
from its gleaming expressiveness, called the eye of the earth. 
About Walden Pond, encircling it everywhere, rose the hills, the 
tall, green hills. To this beautiful spot Emerson used to take the 
children. He would show them all the places he loved, all the wood 
people Thoreau had introduced to him, or the wildflowers whose 
hidden homes he had discovered. So, years later, when the children 
read Emerson's beautiful poem about the sweet rhodora in the 
woods, his "burly, dozing bumblebee," or laughed over the fable of 
the Mountain and the Squirrel, they recognized old friends of these 
beautiful woodland jaunts and thanked Emerson for the delicate 
truth and beauty he had seen there and helped them to understand. 
To the turbulent, restless, half-grown Louisa the calm philos- 
opher, with his gentle ways and practical common-sense, was an 
anchor indeed. In her warm little heart he was held so sacredly 
that he himself would have smiled at such worship. She went to 
him often for advice about her reading and was at liberty to roam 
all around the book-lined walls of his library, there to select what- 
ever pleased her most, for Emerson was never too busy to help her. 
Hawthorne, too, handsome shy man that he was, always steering 
away from the society of grown-ups, had much to do with Louisa 
and the Concord children. He was always at his best with children 
and his stories never failed to hold Louisa spellbound. Doubtless 
she was one of the children to whom he first told the Tanglewood 
Tales and the stories in the Wonder Book. She pored over his 
books, and love and admiration for him grew with her growth. 
Henry Thoreau was the last of those great Concord friends who 
had such an influence on Louisa's fife. From him the Alcott girls 
learned to know intimately the nature they already loved, and 
many a happy day was spent with him in the woods, studying the 
secrets of the wildflowers and the language of the birds. It was 

down by the river that Thoreau was most often to be found. There 
he would row his boat or paddle his canoe with Indian skill through 
the many windings, stopping now and then to gather some rare plant 
from among the grasses on the shore. In his company the girls 
would take long, long walks, too, even tramping the twenty miles 
from Concord to Boston. There was not a single flower or tree that 
the gentle woodsman did not know; birds, squirrels and insects were 
his comrades. Hunted foxes would come to him for protection; 
wild squirrels would nestle in his coat; birds and chipmunks gathered 
about him as he sat at rest on the river bank; he seemed able 
even to coax the fishes up to the surface to feed out of his hand. 
And so for him all Nature had a voice, and the Concord children 
loved the simple friend who taught them the poetry of the woods. 
As Louisa grew up into a tall young girl she began to come into 
prominence as a story teller. Her nature studies gave her material, 
and out in the Concord woods she would gather about her the little 
Emerson children, Ellen, Edith and Edward, and the three Haw- 
thorne children, Una, Julian and Rose, and many another, too. 
Then, under the spreading branches of some great tree, with the 
sunshine filtering down on her head and lighting up all the eager 
little faces about her, she would tell stories that made the very 
woods alive--wood-sprites and water-sprites and fairy queens danc- 
ing in and out through the greenery of those cool forest glades. 
But in spite of all the delights of Concord, Louisa was beginning 
to feel the weight of the family troubles. She saw her father strug- 
gling day by day, earning a little here and there by the work of his 
hands when his talents as a teacher were running to waste. She 
saw her mother carrying burdens too heavy for her and working far 
too hard. She had always helped her mother all she could with the 
housework, but the greatest need of the household now was for 
more money. A noble purpose took root in Louisa's heart. She 
would set out into the world, earn a living, and mend the family 
fortunes. She would give this dear devoted mother the comforts 


that had been denied her so 
long. Once determined to ac- 
complish this, Louisa never 
rested. True, she was only a 
girl, and there were very few 
lines of activity open to girls 
in those days. The way seem- 
ed dark before her and full of 
obstacles. But Louisa was 
never daunted. Full of energy 
and pluck, she set forth. First 
she went up to Boston and 
lived in a wretched little sky- 
parlor. There she wrote stories 
for various magazines and 
papers, taught in a kinder- 
garten and did sewing or any- 
thing else that came to her 


hand. Only one thing mattered to her henceforth, to help her 
mother, father and sisters. Night and day she worked, never sparing 
herself, and every penny that she did not absolutely need for the 
barest necessities of life, she sent home to her mother and father. 
James Russell Lowell was the editor of the Atlantic Monthly in 
those days and he praised her stories and took them for his maga- 
zine. Yet, as the years passed, she wrote nothing that had any very 
lasting merit. She merely labored unceasingly and earned money 
enough by her own self-sacrifice to keep her dear ones in greater 
comfort at home. 
Then one day Louisa's publisher asked her to write a book for 
girls. Louisa was very worn and weary, and she hadn't the small- 
est idea that she could really write an interesting book for children. 
All these years she had written for grown-ups only. But she had 
never yet said "I can't" when she was asked to do anything. So, 


in spite of her misgivings she answered the publishers simply, "I'll 
try." When she began to think about what she should write, she 
remembered all the good times she used to have with her sisters in 
the big, bare house in Concord, out in the old barn, and over the 
hills. So she wrote the story of Little Women and put in all those 
things. Besides the jolly timesand the plays they had, she put 
in the sad, hard times too, the work and the worry and the going 
without things. It was a simple story of simple girls, of their 
daily struggles, their joys and sorrows, but through it all shone 
the spirit of that beautiful family affection that the Alcotts knew 
so well, an affection so strong and enduring that neither pov- 
erty, sorrow, nor death could ever mar it. And the little book was 
so sweet and funny, so sad and real, like human life, that every- 
body bought it and much money Came from it. 
There were Mr. and Mrs. March in the book, true as life to Mr. 
and Mrs. Alcott, and there were all the four sisters too. Meg, the 
capable house-wifely one, was Anna; Jo (the old pet name for 
Louisa) was Louisa, herself, the turbulent, boyish one, who was 
always "going into a vortex" and writing stories; Beth was the 
weet, sunny little home-body, Lizzie or Beth; Amy was May, the 
pretty, golden-haired, blue-eyed one, with the artistic tastes, whose 
pug nose was such a sore trial to her beauty-loving soul that she 
went about with a clothespin on it to train it into proper lines. 
There was a real John Brooke, too. He was a portrait of that 
gentle, kindly, lovable John Pratt, who really married Anna. And 
Laurie was a mixture of a handsome, polished, Polish boy whom 
Louisa had once met in Europe, and a certain New England lad who 
was her friend in girlhood. So, many of the good times in Little 
Women are true, and many of the sad times too,--the marriage 
of Meg and John Brooke, and the death of dear little Beth. 
Louisa was hardly prepared for the immense success of this 
book. It made her almost rich, and besides that, she suddenly 
found herself so worshiped and idolized by young people and old 

alike, that crowds began haunting her path, hanging about the 
house to get just a glimpse of herpopping up in her way to bow 
reverently as she went for a walk or a drive, deluging her with 
flowers, and writing her sentimental verses. All this attention 
drove Louisa nearly distracted, so she had to run away from it for 
a year's rest in Europe. But ever after that the children considered 
Louisa their especial property and she devoted herself henceforth 
to writing for them entirely. She loved them very dearly, too, boys 
and girls alike, and no American author has ever held a warmer 
place than she in the hearts of American young people. 
And so, after so many years of the hardest, most devoted and 
unselfish labor, Louisa's dream came true. She was able to give 
her dear family all that they needed and wanted. She bought a 
comfortable home for them in Concord, she sent May to study art 
in Europe, she gave her father books, but best of all, she was able 
at last to give her beloved mother the happiness and rest which she 
had so nobly earned. Never again did "Marmee" have to do any 
hard work. She could sit from that time forth in a comfortable 
chair beside the sunny window with beautiful work and beauiful 
things about her. A successful life was Louisa Alcott's, one of toil 
and effort, indeed, of joy and sorrow, and ceaseless self-sacrifice, but 
through it all, as through Little Women ran the golden thread of 
that splendid family love. 
Important Works: Little Women Little Men Jo's Boys An Old-fashioned Girl 
Jack and Jill Eight Cousins Rose In Bloom ilver Pitchers 
ALDEN, RAYMOND MacDONALD (American, 1873-) 
Raymond MacDonald Alden was born at Hartford, New York, 
and educated at Rollins College, Florida, the University of Penn- 
sylvania, and Harvard. He has edited several plays by Shakespeare 
and the Elizabethan dramatists, and has taught as instructor and 
professor at Harvard, Leland Stanford, Jr. and the Universities 
of Pennsylvania and Illinois. He was director of the Drama League 
of America from its founding until 1914. 
Important Works: Why The Chimes Rang 




(American, 1836-1907) 

born in the quaint, old, elm-shaded 
town of Portsmouth, New Hamp- 
shire, which lies so near to the 
ocean that the constant sight of 
tall-masted ships and the smell of 
the sea are enough to set any 

boy's blood a-tingle with the spirit of adventure. 
As a boy Tom was very fond of reading. He spent whole 
hours in the attic of the old house where he lived, and there from 
the midst of castaway rubbish, he dug out such books of adven- 
ture as Don Quixote, Arabian Nights, and various works 
of Defoe. 
Among the antiquated furniture in the attic, too, was an old- 
fashioned, hide-covered trunk, reminiscent of those fascinating 
days long past. The trunk had worn exceedingly shabby, but 
still had enough of the air of romance about it to be very inter- 
esting to Tom. One day, as the boy was passing a barber's shop, 
he saw some hair restorer displayed in the window, in connection 
with marvelous promises as to what the same could do in the 
matter of restoring hair where none seemed to be. Thinking of 
his beloved but moth-eaten trunk, Tom went into the shop im- 
mediately and parted with what must have seemed an enormous 
amount of his pocket money, to buy a bottle of the hair restorer. 
He then returned at once to his attic and began applying the 
liquid copiously to the hide of the trunk, in eager hopes of seeing 
new hair appear in the bald places. Every day, thereafter, he 
patiently climbed the stairs to observe the expected sprouting. 
But strange to say, the old trunk remained as bald as before[ 

ANDERSEN, HANS CHRISTIAN (Danish, 1805-1875) 
It matters not to have been born in a duck-yard if one has been 
hatched Jrom a wan's egg. 
HUNDRED years or more ago there lived in 
the ancient city of Odense in Denmark, an 
awkward, overgrown, lean little boy. Hans 
Andersen's father was a cobbler, his mother a 
washerwoman, and they were so poor that they 
lived in one room under a steep gabled roof. 
That room had to be kitchen and parlor, work- 
shop and bedroom all in one, but, poor as it 
was, it was to Hans most wonderfully exciting. In every corner 
it was full of interesting things. The walls were covered with 
pictures; the tables and chests had shiny cups, glasses and jugs 
upon them; in the lattice window grew pots of mint; from the raft- 
ers hung bunches of sweet herbs, and there were always fresh green 
boughs hanging here and there about. Over by the window, where 
the sun streamed in, was the cobbler's work-bench and a shelf of 
books. But most interesting of all to Hans was the door of the 
room which was brightly painted with picturesfields and hedges, 
trees and houses, perhaps even castles  and when the little boy 
had gone to bed and his mother and father thought him fast 
asleep, he would lie awake to look at those pictures and make up 
stories about them. Often, too, in the day time he would crawl 
up the ladder and out on the roof of the house where in the gut- 
ter between the Andersen's cottage and the one next door, there 
stood a box of earth in which Hangs mother had planted chives 
and parsley. This was their garden, for all the world like Kay and 
Gerda's garden in the Snow O.ueen. 
Hans's father, though he passed his days pounding pegs into 
shoes, was a very well educated man, who had seen far better days. 
He loved to read and spent all his spare time with his books. This 
made him seem very different from his poor neighbors, and even 

M Y 

B O 


from his wife who had no education at all. He and Hans were 
great friends and they often went on long walks togethet'. While 
the father sat and thought or read, Hans ran about and gathered 
wild strawberries or made pretty garlands of flowers. It was from 
his father that the boy got his love for reading and his rich and 
vivid fancy. Nevertheless, though Hans liked to read. he did no 
other lessons at all, for he did not like other studies. 
As a child he would play all alone out in the tiny garden be- 
hind the house. For hours he would sit near their one gooseberry 
bush where, with the help of a broomstick and his mother's apron, 
he had made a little tent. Under this shelter he would sit cozily 
in all kinds of weather, fancying things and inventing stories. His 
father had made him some wonderful toys, pictures that changed 
their shape when pulled with a string, a mill which made the miller 
dance when it turned around, and a peepshow of funny rag dolls. 
Hans liked best of all to play with this little toy theatre, for he was 
unusually fond of plays. He would dress up these little rag pup- 
pets and very seriously make them go through the actions of many 
a thrilling drama. 
Occasionally, though very seldom, the boy went to school. 
Once he made friends at school with a little girl, to whom he told 
many remarkable stories. These stories were chiefly about him- 
elf, and his favorite one was how he was of noble birth only the 

fairies had changed him in his cradle and nobody knew the truth 
about him! One day he heard the little girl say, "Hans is a fool." 
Poor little Hans! He trembled and told her no more stories. 
When Hans was only eleven years old his father died and he 
was left alone with his mother. He still continued to play with 
his toy theatre, but he also now read everything on which he could 
lay his hands. Best of all he loved to read Shakespeare, and 
Shakespeare left a deep impression upon him. He liked particu- 
larly those plays of Shakespeare's where there were ghosts or 
witches, and indeed he became so devotedly fond of the drama 
that he felt he must be an actor. Sometimes he decided that he 
could sing unusually well and should make his fortune by acting 
and singing. One day an old woman who was washing clothes in 
flae fiver told Hans that the Empire of China lay down there under 
the water. Having taken no pains to learn anything about the 
world, Hans quite believed her and thought to himself that per- 
haps, some moonlight night when he should be singing down by 
the water's edge, a Chinese prince, charmed by his marvelous 
music, would push his way up through the earth and take him 
down to China to make him rich and noble as a reward for such 
unsurpassed singing. Then the prince might let him return some 
day to Odense, where he would be very rich and build himself a 
castle, to be envied and admired by all who had once despised him! 
Naturally enough, young Hans singing in the lanes, reading 
and playing theatre alone by himself at home, was despised and 

regarded almost as a lunatic by the people of Odense. Tall, gawky 
boy that he was, with a huge nose, tiny eyes and a great long neck 
like a bird's, with feet and hands as big as boats, and clothes al- 
ways too small for himhe was the laughing stock of the neighbor- 
hood. Boys teased him and screamed after him, "There goes the 
play scribbler." Wounded to the quick, Hans shrank away from 
them all and hid himself at home, safe from their mockery. He 
had not a single friend of his own age in Odense. 
The gentry who lived round about, though they were amused 
by the cobbler's peculiar son, were also sorry for him. They 
laughed at his absurd ambitions to be a great writer, a singer or 
actor, when he had never taken the trouble to get the smallest 
education, but they tried, too, to induce him to go to school. For 
a time he did as they wished, but in school he was always dreamy 
and absent-minded, studying tittle, and he tried to please his master 
by bringing him wild flowers instead of learning his lessons. 
At length, at the age of. fourteen, he came to the conclusion 
like the heroes he had read about in his books, that he would set 
out and seek his fortune. This meant that he would go to Copen- 
hagen and there find work at the theatre. He had heard of a won- 
derful thing called a ballet which seemed to him grander and finer 
than anything else in the world, and of a marvelous lady who 
danced in the ballet. Hans pictured this chief dancer as a sort of 
fairy queen, who should graciously condescend to help him and, 
by a wave of her hand, make him famous. 
His mother was rather alarmed at these plans of the lad, so 
she sought advice from a fortune-teller. But that wise woman, 
after consulting the coffee grounds, solemnly announced that Hans 
Christian Andersen would be a great man and that all Odense 
would one day be illumined to do him honor! This statement 
seemed ridiculous and was received with many a wink and shrug of 
the shoulders by others, but it satisfied Hans's mother and she con- 
sented to let him go. So the boy confidently did up his little bundle, 

and with nine dollars in his pocket, took ship for Copenhagen. 
Once arrived in the city, he hurried off to find his fairy queen, 
the chief, dancer, and poured out in her wondering ears his long- 
ing to go on the stage. To show her what he could do, he took off 
his shoes and began dancing about in his stocking feet, using his 
hat for a drum and beating a lively tattoo! Needless to say, the 
graceful gambols of this overgrown giraffe terrified the poor lady. 
She took him for a lunatic and hastily showed him the door. 
In spite of this disappointment, however, Hans persisted. He 
went to seek help from the Director of the Theatre, only to meet 
here with another rebuff. He was told that none but educated 
people were engaged for the stage. So began the long series of 
Hans's adventures and disappointments. Ridiculous as he ap- 
peared to others, he sincerely respected himself and had a firm 
belief in his own ability to do something. But he was keenly sen- 
sitive, too, and the constant rebuffs he met with always hurt him 
sorely. All the unhappiness of those days, as well as of his child- 
hood, he expressed years later in the story of the Ugly Duckling, 
whose buffetings and miseries represent his own early trials. 
He lived now in a garret in the poorest quarter of Copenhagen 
and had nothing to eat but a cup of coffee in the morning and a 
roll later in the day. Though he found friends who even then 
recognized his talent and wished to help him, he would not take 
from them more than was absolu.tely necessary. He would pre- 
tend that he had had plenty to eat and that he had been dining 
out with friends, rather than accept more of their charity. He 
would say, too, that he was quite warm when his clothes were 
threadbare and his boots so worn and leaky that his feet were 
sopping with water. The courage and determination he showed 
at this time were really remarkable in a lad of fifteen. He once 
sent a play he had written to the RoyalTheatre, never doubting in 
his childish ignorance that it would be accepted. It came back to 
him very soon with the curt comment' that it showed such a lack 


T.H E L A 
simply delighted. At length, 
Andersen's friends suggested 
that he write down these stories. 
At first he laughed at such an 
idea, but finally he consented, 
more in fun than in earnest. So 
he wrote the stories exactly as 
he told them. This made them 
different from anything else 
that had ever been published 
in Denmark. Most people 
when they write have a formal, 
stilted manner, quite different 


from their ordinary conversation, but Andersen's tales were 
written in the same lively, simple, informal style in which he had 
told them. In this lay their particular charm. The critics, of 
course,--those who were not too grand even to look at such childish 
trash--criticized the stories for this informal style and bewailed the 
lack of elegance in their wording. 
Even Andersen himself did not take these "small things" 
seriously, and yet it was his fairy tales and nothing else that won 
him his lasting fame. In them he gave free rein to his wonderful 
fancy and embodied all the childlike simplicity of his great and 
loving heart. Soon the stories became so popular that they were 
translated into one foreign language after another, and while 
Andersen's novels and plays have long since been forgotten, it is 
due to his fairy tales that he is still more widely read than any 
other Scandinavian writer. Children pore over these stories to this 
very day, from America to India, from Greenland to South Africa. 
The recognition thus won by Andersen after so many years of 
struggle was, to him, a source of constant wonder and delight. 
That he, the son of a poor washerwoman and a cobbler, should now 
be the friend of princes and kings, seemed to him more marvelous 


than the most fantastic incidents of his own fairy tales. Often, 
when he was enjoying some quite ordinary luxury which most 
people take for granted, such as lying on a sofa in a new dressing 
gown, surrounded by books, he would think of his childhood and 
wonder. On his travels, too, he found himself welcomed every- 
where and met on the friendliest terms by the greatest literary men 
of his day. In France he met Dumas and Victor Hugo, in Ger- 
many, the brothers Grimm, in England, Charles Dickens, and his 
simple, childlike nature drew all people to love him. Now, when 
he passed along the streets of Copenhagen, those who saw him 
would nudge each other and say, "There goes the great poet!" 
Quite different from the days when the boys had shrieked after him, 
"There goes the play scribbler!" 
On December sixth, 1867, when Andersen was sixty two years 
old, the prophecy made so long ago to his mother was fulfilled. In 
Odense, the city of his birth, the once scorned and ugly little boy 
was greeted with an immense celebration. To do him honor all the 
town, from end to end, was one great blaze of light. And so, at 
last, the ugly duckling turned out, in very truth, to be a swan. 
Important Works: Andersen's Fairy Tales The Improvisatore 
ASBJORNSEN, PETER CHRISTEN (Norwegian, 1812-1885) 
MOE, J)RGEN (Norwegian, 1813-1882) 
Once there was a man who used to wander on foot through the 
picturesque villages and quaint little hamlets of Norway, talking 
to the peasants and gathering the fine old fairy tales of the people. 
This man was Peter Christen Asbj6rnsen. When Peter was only 
fourteen years old he formed a firm friendship with a lad named 
J6rgen Moe. As the two grew to manhood, they found they were 
both interested in the same work, searching out their national fairy 
tales. They decided, therefore, to work together. Moe was a 
tutor, but in the holidays he, too, wandered through the mountains 
and into all sorts of out-of-the-way places, collecting tales and 
legends, and getting from many an old grandmother or simple 


BARNUM, PHINEAS T. (American, 1810-1891) 
On the fifth of July, 1810, heralded by a mighty thundenng 
of cannon, a rattling of drums, and all the other noises of Inde- 
pendence Day, there appeared for the first time on this world's 
stage, a small boy, named Phineas T. Barnum, who was destined 
to become the greatest showman in all the world, and to make a 
bigger stir, both in America and Europe, than all the Independ- 
ence Days put together. Phineas was born in the town of Bethel, 
Connecticut. His father was a tailor, a farmer and sometimes 
a tavern keeper, and Phineas led the life of an ordinary country 
boy, driving the cows to pasture, shelling corn, weeding the 
garden and riding the horse which led the ox team in ploughing. 
But the boy liked better to work with his head than with his hands, 
and he was always figuring out ways and means of earning money. 
On holidays, especially those days when the soldiers marched 
out and trained on the green with scores of country folk looking 
on, days when other boys were riotously spending all their hoard- 
ed pennies, Phineas was busy earning money! With bustling in- 
dustry he peddled molasses candy, home-made gingerbread, cookies 
and sugar candies among the crowd, thus generally finding him- 
self richer at the end of the holiday by many a merry penny. 
As Phineas grew up he tried keeping a country store. A 
jolly place it was, where in the evenings and on rainy days, all 


the wits and wags of the village gathered, to sit around the stove 
and talk or play jokes on one another, for all his life long Phineas 
dearly loved a joke. But keeping store was by no means in 
Phineas's line; he was only moderately successful and it was 
not until he was twenty-five years old, married and with a little 
daughter of his own, that he found the work for which he was 
really fitted. This work was nothing more or less than providing 
people with clean and wholesome amusement. 
In 1835, Barnum heard of a remarkable negro woman named 
Joice Heth who was said to be one hundred and sixty-one years 
old and to have been the nurse of George Washington. She was 
a dried up, little, old creature, looking almost like a mummy, with 
a head of bushy, thick, grey hair. She lay stiff on a couch and 
could not move her limbs, nevertheless, she was pert and sociable, 
and would talk as long as anyone would converse with her. It 
was said that she had lain for years in an out-house on the estate 
of a certain John S. Bowling in Virginia, having been there so 
long that nobody knew or cared how old she was until one day 
Mr. Bowling accidently discovered an old bill of sale describing 
this woman as having been sold by Augustine Washington, father 
of George, to his half sister, Elizabeth Atwood. Being greatly 
interested in Joice, Barnum sold out his store for $500 and with 
this tittle capital, he started out to exhibit her. 

He saw in the very beginning of hi career that everything 
depended on getting the public excited and interested, to think 
and talk of what he had to exhibit. Accordingly, he made great 
use of advertisements in newspapers and every other means to 
arouse public interest. As a result, his showrooms in New York, 
Boston, Albany and elsewhere, were thronged, and he earned a 
vast return on his money. Joice would prattle away garrulously 
about her "dear little George," meaning George Washington, 
and she would tell how she had been present at the birth of the Father 
of His Country, and had been the one to put the very first clothes 
on the dear little infant. Often people would ask her questions 
about the Washington family and she would answer all, and was 
never caught in a single contradiction. When interest in the 
old woman appeared to flag, Barnum secretly caused the news- 
papers to agitate the question whether she was not, after all, a 
mere automaton and no living woman, a made image that talked 
and moved by means of machinery and springs. Then more crowds 
of people flocked to his hall to find out the truth about her. 
Barnum's next venture after Joice Heth, was an Italian juggler 
who performed certain remarkable feats of balancing, plate spin- 
ning and stilt walking. This man called himself Signor Antonio 
and had once travelled with a monkey and a hand organ in Italy, 
but Barnum induced him first to take a bath and then to take 
upon himself the much more imposing name of Signor Vivalla. 
By dint of much advertising, he then made Vivalla very popular, 
and so remarkable was Barnum's ability to turn everything, 
even criticism, to good account, that he won his greatest success 
with Vivalla, by making good use of a hiss of derision that greeted 
one of the Signor's appearances from the audience. Far from 
being downcast by this hiss, Barnum sought out the one who had 
made the contemptuous noise and found him to be one, Roberts, a 
circus preformer, who insisted that he could do all Vivalla had 
done and more. Immediately Barnum challenged Roberts to hold 

a contet with Vivalla, offering a thousand dollars prize to the 
winner. He then advertised the trial of skill far and wide until 
he got the public interest at a white heat, thus drawing packed 
houses both for the first and following contests. 
In April, 1836, Barnum contracted for himself and Vivalla to 
join Aaron Turner's Traveling Circus Co. Barnum, himself, was 
to act as ticket seller, secretary and treasurer. Mr. Turner was 
an old showman, but to Barnum this traveling and performing 
in canvas tents was altogether new. For centuries, in England, 
dwarfs, giants and wild men had been popular, and there had 
been shows of jugglers, performing horses, dancing bears, feats 
of horsemanship, acrobats, rope-dancers, etc. at fairs and else- 
where. Indeed, an ancient hand-illumined Anglo-Saxon man- 
uscript shows an audience in an arena or ampitheatre built dur- 
ing the Roman occupation of Britain diverted by a musician, a 
dancer and a trained bear, while Shakespeare, in Love's Labours 
Lost, refers to a famous performing horse of his day. Rope-dancers 
threw somersaults over naked swords and men's heads in the days 
of Charles II, and Joseph Clark, the original "boneless man," 
appeared in the age of James II, while George Washington and 
his staff attended a circus performance in Philadelphia in 1780. 
But the regular tenting circus that travelled about with wagons 
had not come into being either in England or America until 
sometime between the years 1805 and 1830. At first, these 
circuses were very small and modest exhibitions, met only at 
fairs, and they performed only in the daytime, because no means 
had been discovered for lighting the tent at night. But when in 
1830, the method of lighting the ring with candles in a frame 
around the center pole was devised, the circus began to grow. 
Turner's Circus, with which Barnum first travelled, was a moder- 
ate sized show and they set forth with quite a train of wagons, 
carriages, horses and ponies, a band of music and about twenty- 
five men. Their tour was very successful for all concerned, but 

in the fall Barnum took friendly leave of Turner and with several 
wagons, a small canvas tent and such performers as Vivalla, 
James Sandford, a negro singer and dancer, several musicians 
and Joe Pentland, one of the cleverest and most original of clowns, 
he began a little traveling exhibition of his own. 
In Camden, South Carolina, Sandford suddenly deserted the 
company, and as Mr. Barnum had advertised negro songs at his 
performance, he was obliged to black his own face and hands, go 
on the stage and sing the advertised songs himself. To his surprise 
he was roundly applauded. But, when, in his negro black, he httrri- 
ed out after one of these performances, to uphold some of his men 
against a white man who was abusing them, the fiery Southerner, 
taking him in truth for a negro, drew his pistol and shouted, 
"You black rascal, how dare you use such language to a white 
man!" Only the greatest presence of mind, which prompted 
Barnum to roll up his sleeve in a twinkling and reveal his own 
white skin, saved him from a bullet. 
In going from Columbus, Georgia, to Montgomery, Alabama, 
Barnum's Company was obliged to cross a thinly settled, deso- 
late tract known as the "Indian Nation," and as several persons 
had been murdered there by hostile Indians, it was deemed 
dangerous to travel the road without an escort. Only the day 
before the stage coach had been held up in that region. The 
circus men were all well armed, however, and trusted that their 
numbers would seem too formidable to be attacked, but they 
said quite openly that they earnestly wished there were no need 
to run the risk. Vivalla, alone, declared himself to be fearless 
and loudly boasted that he was ready to encounter fifty Indians 
and drive them all into the swamp. Accordingly, when the party 
had safely passed over the entire route to within fourteen miles 
of Montgomery, and were beyond the reach of danger, Joe 
Pentland, the clown, determined to test Vivalla's much boasted 
bravery. Pentland had secretly purchased an old Indian dress 

with a fringed hunting shirt and moccasins, and these he put on, 
after coloring his face with Spanish brown. Then, shouldering 
his musket, he followed Vivalla and his party, and approaching 
stealthily, he leaped into their midst with a terrific war whoop. 
Barnum and Vivalla's other companions were all in the secret 
and they instantly fled, leaving the doughty hero alone with the 
foe. Without more ado, Vivalla took to his heels and ran like a 
deer. Pentland followed him, yelling horribly and brandishing his 
gun. After running a full mile, the hero, out of breath and frighten- 
ed nearly out of his wits, dropped on his knees before his pursuer and 
begged for his life. The Indian levelled his gun at his victim but 
soon seemed to relent and signified that Vivalla should turn his 
pockets inside out. This he did, handing over to Pentland a purse 
containing eleven dollars. The savage then marched Vivalla to an 
oak, and with his handkerchief tied him in the most approved 
Indian manner to the tree. After this, Pentland joined Barnum 
and the others and as soon as he had washed his face and changed 
his dress they all went to the rescue of Vivalla. The little Italian 
was overjoyed to see them coming, but the very moment that he 
was released he began to swagger about again, swearing that, after 
his companions had fled, the one Indian who had first attacked 
them had been reinforced by six more. He had defended himself 
stoutly, he said, but the superior force of the seven huge braves 
had at last compelled him to 
surrender! For a week the party 
pretended to believe Vivalla's 
big story, but at the end of that 
time they told him the truth and 
Joe Pentland showed him his 
purse, desiring to return it. In- 
wardly, Vivalla must have been 
deeply chagrined, but outwardly 
he flatly refused to believe the 

story, and stubbornly said that he would not take.back the eleven 
dollars, insisting that the money could not possibly be his, since 
his purse had been taken, not by one Indian, but by seven ! 
Now, at length, Barnum began to long earnestly for some more 
settled and worth while phase of the show business. It happened 
at just this time that the American Museum in New York City 
was for sale at a moderate price, for the reason that it had not 
been run for some time past so as to make any money. It was a 
fine collection of curiosities and Barnum determined to buy it, 
though the price, low as it was, was enormous in comparison 
with the small amount of capital which he had been able so far to 
lay by. He had the most eager confidence, however, that he could 
manage the museum so as to make it pay large returns, and he had 
the courage to stake all that he had on his own enterprise, wit and 
ability. Accordingly, he offered to pay down all he possessed 
and to make enough out of the museum to pay the rest within a 
set space of time, agreeing that if he could not do so, he should 
forfeit not only the museum, but the whole amount that he had 
thus far paid. 
So he found himself, at last, in possession of a valuable and 
instructive, as well as amusing, collection, well worthy that he 
should devote to it all his wonderful energies. There were all 
sorts of rare beasts and remarkably trained animals, from per- 
forming dogs to performing fleas, these latter only to be seen 
with their tiny carriages and outfits, through a magnifying glass. 
There were giants, dwarfs, jugglers, ventriloquists,, rope-dancers, 
gypsies, Albinos and remarkable mechanical figures. Mr. Barnum 
banished all the poor and vulgar things which so frequently dis- 
figured other performances of this kind, and devoted himself, 
heart and soul, to giving the public the best and cleanest per- 
formance to be found for twenty-five cents anywhere in the city. 
He had such a remarkable understanding of human nature, 
and so keen and merry a wit, that he was always able to startle the 

public attention and keep people thinking and talking about his 
performances. Once he employed a man to go very solemnly and 
lay down three bricks at certain distances apart in front of the 
museum, then to pass as solemnly with a fourth brick in his hand 
from one of the three to another, picking up each and exchanging 
it for the one he held in his hand. In no time at all the mysterious 
doings of the brick-man had attracted a huge crowd of curiou 
humanity trying to find out what he could possibly be about, and 
when at the end of every hour, according to Barnum's directions, 
the man walked as though still intent upon this strange business 
of his, into the museum, quite a little crowd of the curious would 
march up to the ticket office and buy tickets just to enter the 
building and learn, if they could, the secret of his strange doings. 
Not only could Barnum use his wit to attract people into the 
museum, but he also used the same wit on occasion to get them 
out again. Sometimes people would come and bring their lunch- 
eons and stay all day in the building, so crowding it that others who 
wished to come in, had to be turned away and their twenty-five 
cent pieces thus were lost to the coffers of the museum. Once, on 
St. Patrick's Day, a crowd of Irish people thronged the place, 
giving every evidence, one and all, of intending to remain until 
sundown. Beholding an eager crowd without, pressing to come 
in, and the ticket seller forced of necessity to refuse their quarters, 
Barmtm attempted to induce one Irish lady with two children 
to leave the place by politely showing her an egress or way out of 
the building through a back door into a side street. But the lady 
haughtily remarked that she had her dinner and intended to stay 
all day. Desperate then, Barnum had a sign-painter paint on a 
large sign TO THE EGRESS. This he placed over the steps lead- 
ing to the back door where the crowd must see it after they had 
once been around the whole building and seen all there was to see. 
Plunging down the stairs, they read TO THE EGRESS, and 
knowing not at all the meaning of the word, they shouted aloud, 


 "Sure that's some new kind of animal!" Eager to take 
in everything, they crowded out the door, only to find 
that this wonderful new curiosity was the back street! 
Once, Barnum engaged a band of wild Indians from Iowa for 
the Museum. The party consisted of a number of large, noble 
savages, beautiful squaws and interesting papooses. The men 
gave war dances on the stage with a vigor and enthusiasm that 
delighted the audiences. Nevertheless, these wild Indians con- 
sidered their dances as realities, and after their war dances it was 
dangerous to get in their way, for they went leaping and peering 
about behind the scenes as though in search of victims for their 
knives and tomahawks. Indeed, a rope fence had to be built at 
the front of the stage to make certair that they should not, some 
night, plunge down upon their audience after one of their rousing 
war dances. Finding the responsibility of thus protecting the 
public to be rather heavy, Mr. Barnum decided to ask them to 
change their bill by giving a wedding dance instead of a war 
dance. But the Indians took the wedding dance as seriously as 
they had the war dance. At the first afternoon performance, Mr. 
Barnum was informed that he was expected to provide a large new, 
red woolen blanket at a cost of ten dollars for the bridegroom to 
present to the father of the bride. He ordered the purchase made, 
but was considerably taken aback when he was told that he must 
have another new blanket for the evening's performance, as the old 
chief would on no account permit that his daughter should be 
approached with the wedding dance unless he had his blanket as a 
present. Mr. Barnum undertook to explain to the chief that no 
blanket was required since this was not a real wedding. The old 
savage, however, shrugged his shoulders and gave such a terrific 
"Ugh!" that Barnum was glad to make his peace by ordering 
another blanket. As they gave two performances a day he was 
out of pocket 120.00 for twelve wedding blankets that week! 
At another time, Barnum had at the Museum some powerful 

Indian chiefs who had come on a mission from the West to Wash- 
ington. Some of these were fine, dignified, splendid types of the 
race, but one was a wiry little fellow known as Yellow Bear. He 
was a sly, treacherous, bloodthirsty savage, who had killed many 
whites as they traveled through the far west in early days. But 
now he was on a mission to the Great Father at Washington, 
seeking for presents and favors for his tribe, and he pretended to 
be exceedingly meek and humble, begging to be announced as the 
"great friend of the white man". He would fawn upon Mr. 
Barnum and try to convince him that he loved him dearly. In 
exhibiting these Indians on the stage, Mr. Barnum explained the 
names and character of each. When he came to Yellow Bear, he 
would pat him familiarly upon the shoulder which always caused 
the old hypocrite to give the most mawkish grin and stroke his arm 
lovingly. Then, knowing that Yellow Bear did not understand a 
word he said, and thought he was complimenting him, Mr. 
Barnum would say in the . 
sweetest voice, "This little 
Indian, ladies and gentle- 

men, is Yellow Bear, chief 
of the Kiowas. He has killed, 
no doubt, scores of white 
persons and he is probably 
the meanest, blackest heart- 
ed rascal that lives in the 
far west." Here Mr. Barnum 
patted him sweetly on the 
head, and Yellow Bear, sup- 
posing that his introducer 
was sounding his praises, 
would smile and fawn upon 
him and stroke his arm 
while the other continued, 


"If the bloodthirsty little villain understood what I was saying 
he would kill me in a moment, but as he thinks I am complimenting 
him, I can safely state the truth to you, that he is a lying, 
thieving, treacherous, murderous monster." Here Mr. Barnum 
gave him another patronizing pat on the head and Yellow Bear, 
with a final pleasant smile, bowed to the audience as much as to 
say that his introducer's words were quite true and he thanked 
him for the high praises so generously heaped upon him! 
Giants and dwarfs were always a great feature of Mr. Barnum's 
establishment. At different times he had the celebrated dwarfs, 
General Tom Thumb, Lavinia and Minnie Warren, Commodore 
Nutt, and Admiral Dot. In the darkest days of the Civil War he 
took Commodore Nutt to Washington, and President Lincoln, sad 
and overburdened, left a cabinet meeting to come out for a mo- 
ment's relief and joke with the little fellow. Mr. Barnum had also 
the famous Novia Scotia giantess, Anna Swan, and, early in his 
career, a French giant, named Monsieur Bihin, and the Arabian 
giant, Colonel Goshen. One day Bihin and Goshen had a terrific 
quarrel. The Arabian called the Frenchman "a Shanghai" and the 
Frenchman called the Arabian "a Nigger!" From words the 
two were eager to proceed to blows. Running to the collection of 
arms in the Museum, one seized the murderous looking club with 
which Captain Cook was said to have been killed, and the other 
snatched up a crusader's sword of tremendous size and weight. 
Everything seemed ready for hopeless tragedy, but once again 
Barnum's quick and ready wit saved the day. Rushing in between 
the two enormous and raging combatants, he cried: 
"Look here! This is all right! If you want to fight each other, 
maiming and perhaps killing one or both of you, that is your 
affair, but my interest lies here. You are under engagement to 
me, and if the duel is to come off, I and the public have a right to 
participate. It must be duly advertised and must take place on our 
stage. No performance of yours would be a greater attraction!" 

This proposition, apparently made with such earnestness, 
caused the two huge creatures to burst into iaughter, after which 
dose of healthy humor, they were unable longer to retain their 
anger, but shook hands and quarreled no more. 
The American Museum was now tremendously successful, and 
in the year 1849, Mr. Barnum left it under the management of 
others, while he attended to the enterprise, which of all other 
exhibitions in his life, he was most proud. This was the bringing 
over to America of the famous Swedish singer, Jenny Lind, the 
"Swedish nightingale," as she was called, an enterprise quite differ- 
ent in character from any other that Mr. Barnum had ever under- 
taken. But he made it, by his genius for awakening public interest, 
a never-to-be-forgotten success, and Jenny Lind was received 
everywhere throughout the United States and Cuba with almost 
riotous attention, while President Fillmore, General Scott, Daniel 
Webster, and many famous men delighted to pay her homage. 
Barnum's well earned success had made him very rich, and 
the year before Jenny Lind came to America, he had built himself 
a beautiful home at Bridgeport, Connecticut, where he lived. This 
place he called Iranistan. The house was built in an elegant, 
airy, oriental style, with domes and slender minarets that looked, 
when seen by moonlight, like a fairy palace, taken bodily from 
some Moslem garden across the Bosphorous, and set down there 
by wizardry, amid such different surroundings. At Iranistan he 
lived with his dearly loved wife and daughters. 
He was now a very public-spirited man, engaged in all sorts of 
activities valuable to Bridgeport, always expanding the city, 
making it more beautiful, and using his means unsparingly for 
the benefit of the town. He often encountered old fogies who 
opposed all progress because they had not his far reaching vision 
and could not see with him what would be for the final good of the 
city. But he always managed either to win them over or to get 
the obstacles they raised out of the way, so that the improvements 

he intended could be carried throuffh, whether it were a new sea- 
side park or a new bride across the fiver. His chief interest was 
in East Bridffeport, which lay on the opposite side of the fiver 
from Bridgeport proper. From pure farm land he turned this 
reion into a thrivinff city, with factories, shops, and houses, and 
he lent money on very ffenerous terms to workmen who wished 
to build homes over there. But in order to make East Bridgeport 
still more prosperous, he once undertook to induce the Jerome 
Clock Company to move there with all its employees and their 
families. He was assured that this concern was a sound and 
flourishinff one, but its officers deliberately deceived him. In the 
belief that he was sininff notes which should make him responsi- 
ble for a certain moderate amount of money that he was willing 
to risk to repay them for moving, he was tricked into signing 
notes for many, many times more than that amount, until, one 
day, he awoke to find that the Clock Company had failed and he 
himself was a ruined man, responsible for their miserable debts, 
to many times more than the amount of all his fortune. Thus, for 
a stranger concern, with the running of which he had had nothing 
to do, he had lost every penny and had, beside, a mountain of 
debts on his back. For all this, moreover, he had been in no way 
to blame, unless by too great generosity and too honest a faith in 
human nature. Iranistan had to be given up and even the 
American Museum likewise. But in the face of this, his first 
misfortune, Barnum spent not a moment in complaint, dis- 
couragement or self-pity, although petty enemies hounded him 
and many whom he had thought his good friends in his high 
fortunes now turned him a cold shoulder. He set to work at once 
to rebuild his fortunes, and rejoiced, instead of repining, be- 
cause this affair had separated for him his real friends from those 
who had only fawned upon him for what they could get out of him. 
Tom Thumb was one of his real friends who offered to help 
him in any way, and after moving his wife and daughters into 


humble quarters, Barnum set out to exhibit Tom Thumb for a 
second time in Europe. For four years now, he worked incessantly, 
exhibiting various curiosities and lecturing, sending every penny 
he could earn back home to pay up his debts. During this 
time, too, occurred a second misfortune, the burning of beau- 
tiful Iranistan to the ground. But Barnum never let anything 
turn him from his purpose and so, in 1860, he found himself 
at last free from debt and able to buy back once again his beloved 
American Museum. When he appeared on the stage of the 
Museum, and it was publicly announced that he was free of his 
troubles and once again Manager there, the public received him 
with the most tremendous shouts of applause, which showed 
clearly how they respected him, and how through his years of 
honest attempts to bring them happiness, he had endeared himself 
to them. Such a huge demonstration of affection nearly broke 
Barnum down. His voice faltered and tears came to his eyes as 
he thought what a magnificent conclusion this was to all the trials 
and struggles of the past four years. 
Soon after Barnum entered again upon his duties at the Museum 
there came to him a most interesting man, usually known as 
Grizzly Adams, from the fact that he had captured a great many 

grizzly bears at the cost of fear- 
ful encounters and perils. He 
was emphatically a man of pluck 
and had been for many years a 
hunter and trapper in the Rock- 
ies and Sierra Nevada Moun- 
tains. He came to New York 
with his famous collection of 
California animals captured by 
himself. These consisted of 
twenty or thirty immense griz- 
zlies, several wolves, buffalo, elk, 

and Old Neptune, the greatest sea lion of the Pacific. They had 
come from California on a dipper ship, sailing around Cape Horn. 
Old Adams had patiently trained these animals, too, and at terrific 
cost, for although all of them were docile now with him, there was 
not one of them but at times would give him a sly hit, and some of 
the bears had struck him so many times with their fearful paws 
that they had broken his skull. Old Adams was dressed in a hunter's 
suit of buckskin trimmed with the skins and bordered with the 
hanging tails of small Rocky Mountain animals; his cap consisted of 
the skin of a wolf's head and shoulders, from which depended 
several tails, and under this his bushy hair and long, white beard 
appeared. In fact, the man was as much of a show as his beasts. 
Barnum bought a half interest in Adams' menagerie and erected 
a canvas tent for him. On the morning of his opening, preceded 
by a band of music, the old man had a fine procession down Broad- 
way and up the Bowery. At the head of a train of cages bearing 
his animals, he rode on a platform wagon, dressed in his hunting 
costume and holding two immense grizzly bears by chains, while 
he sat astride of one larger still, the famous General Fremont. 
It was General Fremont who had given Old Adams the last fatal 
blow on his head, although he had since become so docile that 
Adams had used him as a pack bear to carry his cooking and hunt- 
ing apparatus, and had even ridden on his back for hundreds of 
miles through the mountains. The old man pluckily insisted on liv- 
ing for months and exhibiting his bears, in spite of his broken skull. 
In 1861, Barnum heard of some white whales that had been 
seen in the lower St. Lawrence, and he set out at once to capture 
one. On a little island in the great fiver, inhabited by French 
Canadians, he engaged twenty four fishermen to capture for him 
two white whales alive and unharmed. Scores of these creatures 
could at all times be discovered by their spouting within sight 
of the island. The men made a V shaped pen in the water, leaving 
the broad end open. When a whale got into this pen at high 


water, the fishermen closed the entrance with their boats making 
a tremendous noise and splashing to keep the whale in until 
low tide. Then the huge creature was left high and dry with 
too little water to swim in and so was easily captured. A noose 
of stout rope was slipped over his tail and he was thus towed 
to a large box lined with seaweed and partially filled with salt 
water. When two of these creatures were captured, Barnum went 
back to New York, sending out word in all directions at what 
time the whales were to pass through various towns on the line. 
Thus he drew tremendous crowds to the train to see the creatures. 
During the Civil War Barnum was too old to fight, but he 
sustained his part loyally at home, and in 1865 was elected to the 
Connecticut legislature. He soon discovered in Hartford that 
the rich railroad interests had long had undue influence with the 
legislature and were getting bills passed very advantageous to 
themselves, but wholly unfair and detrimental to the people. 
Being no politician, but an honest man, Barnum set himself at 
once to remedy this evil, defeat the railroad interests, and restore 
justice to the people. He was making a great speech to this 
effect in the legislature after weeks of determined work to line- 
up voters against the railroads, a speech intended as his crowning 
effort to induce the passage of bills that would defeat their unjust 
schemes when the following telegram was handed him. 
"American Museum in flames. Its total destruction certain." 
Barnum read the telegram containing this terrific news with- 
out a sign of discomposure. Then he laid it calmly and coolly on 
his desk and continued his speech, speaking so logically and 
eloquently that he carried his point and won the legislation 
against the railroads. It was not until this was accomplished that 
he made known the calamity which had befallen him and returned 
to New York. The destruction of the Museum was complete. 
In a breath had been wiped out the accumulated results of many 
years of incessant toil. Barnum had lost another fortune. More- 

over, he was now fifty-five years old and might well have thought 
himself too old to start out life anew, but he did no such thing. 
He set about at once to establish a new American Museum, send- 
ing agents all over Europe and America to gather curiosities, and 
at the end of four months he had opened Barnum's New Museum. 
Three years later, Mr. Barnum was sitting with his wife and a 
guest at breakfast one cold winter morning, and carelessly glancing 
over the newspaper when he suddenly read aloud, "Hallo! Barnum's 
Museum is burned !" 
"Yes," said his wife, with an incredulous smile, "I suspect it is." 
He had read the announcement so coolly and with so little 
excitement that his wife and friend did not believe it, and yet it 
was true. A third disastrous fire had wiped out his new museum. 
When he returned to New York he found its ruined walls all 
frozen over with water from the fire hose, the entire front with its 
ornamental lamp posts and sign one gorgeous framework of trans- 
parent ice, that glistened beautifully in the sun. 
Now, at last, the celebrated showman decided to retire from 
active business and live on the remnant of his fortune. He tried 
hard to content himself with such a life of leisure, traveling about 
the United States, hunting buffalo with General Custer on the 
plains of Kansas, and for several years endeavoring in every way 
to amuse himself. But this experience only showed him that a 
life of inactivity was absolutely unendurable. He decided con- 
elusively, once and for all, that the only true rest is to be found 
in useful activity, and by 1870 he had bigger plans than ever. He 
now determined to devote himself entirely to a great traveling 
circus, far larger and better than anything that had ever been 
done before. On this circus he labored unremittingly, confident 
that if he devoted his best energies to the public, the public 
would liberally repay him. Perceiving that his show was too 
gigantic to be moved in the old way by wagons he now for the 
first time arranged with railroads to transport it, using seventy 

freight cars, six passenger cars and three engines. The circus was 
a tremendous success. People crowded to the various places of 
exhibition, coming not only from the towns where the show was 
held, but from aeighboring towns as well, some on excursion trains, 
and some by wagons or on horseback, often camping out over night. 
Two years later, on the day before Christmas, Barnum was 
sitting at breakfast in a hotel, thinking comfortably how he had 
arranged for his circus to be shown in New York in order that his 
vast host of men should not be thrown out of employment during 
the winter, when once again a telegram was handed him saying 
that a fourth fire had completely destroyed this circus. This 
time Barnum had no thought of giving up again. He had decided 
beyond the shadow of a doubt that there were no real misfortunes 
in the world, and that what seemed even an overwhelming mis- 
fortune was only an opportunity for rising to greater accomplish- 
ments. Therefore he merely interrupted his breakfast long enough 
on this occasion to go out and send immediate cables to his Europ- 
ean agents to duplicate all his animals within two months. He 
then went back and finished his meal. By the first of April he 
placed on the road a combination of curiosities and marvels far 
surpassing anything he had ever done before. 
But great as this circus was, Barnum was never satisfied to 
rest on his laurels. He aimed to do something greater still. In 
1874 while he still continued the traveling circus he opened in New 
York a great Roman Hippodrome. This gorgeous spectacle began 
every evening with a Congress of Nations, a grand procession of 
gilded chariots and triumphal cars, conveying Kings, Queens and 
Emperors, each surrounded by his respective retinue, and all in 
costumes made with the greatest care to be historically correct. 
This vast pageant contained nearly one thousand persons and 
several hundred horses, beside elephants, camels, llamas, ostriches, 
elands, zebras and reindeer. The rich and varied costumes, 
armor and trappings, gorgeous banners and paraphernalia, as well 

as the appropriate music accompanying the entrance of each 
nation, produced an effect at once brilliant and bewildering. The 
entire press said that never before since the days of the Caesars 
had there been so grand and interesting a public spectacle. 
Most of Mr. Barnum's competitors in the circus field in those 
early days were men of very inferior aims and abilities, content 
with poor and inferior, even vulgar shows, aiming only to make 
money, and inspired with little of that desire to give in the biggest 
sense the best and finest entertainment possible, which made Mr. 
Barnum so different from the others. But in 1880 he found a 
rival worthy of his mettle in the person of Mr. James A. Bailey. 
The very moment that Mr. Barnum perceived Mr. Bailey to be. 
a man with the same big aims and ambitions as himself, as well 
as the same solid business sense, far from feeling any jealousy 
and trying to drive him out of the field, he entered at once into 
negotiations with him and took him into partnership. This part- 
nership with Bailey lasted throughout the remainder of Barnum's 
fife. They opened their combined show with a street parade by 
night in New York, all beautifully illumined by calcium lights. 
This huge circus now when it traveled had its own cars. No 
longer were the trains hired as of old from the railways. Advance 
agents and advertising cars, gorgeous with paint and gilding, con- 
taining paste vats, posters and a force of men, would pass through 
the country weeks ahead of the circus, pasting up the billboards 
and arousing the interest of the community. The circus itself 
was packed up in the smallest possible space, its men trained 
with military promptitude and precision to work like clockwork and 
make every move count in erecting or taking down the huge can- 
vas city. The performers slept in their cars and ate in the canvas 
dining tent. Hundreds of men were employed and the expenses 
of the concern were four or five thousand dollars a day. 
One of the most interesting feats of Barnum's later years was 
the purchase of Jumbo, the largest elephant ever seen. Jumbo 

was the chief ornament of the Zoological Gardens in London, and 
a great favorite with Queen Victoria whose children and grand- 
children were among the thousands of British youngsters who had 
ridden on Jumbo's back. Mr. Barnum never supposed that 
Jumbo could be purchased, nevertheless he made a liberal offer 
for him to the Superintendent of the Gardens and his offer was 
accepted. When it became publicly known that Jumbo had been 
sold and was to depart for America, a great hue and cry was raised 
in England. Newspapers talked of Jumbo before all the news of 
the day and children wrote supplicating letters to the superin- 
tendent begging that he be retained. Nevertheless the super- 
intendent persisted and Jumbo had to go. 
When the day of his departure arrived there came a great tug- 
of-war. As the agents tried to remove Jumbo, Alice, another 
elephant who had been for sixteen years Jumbo's companion and 
was called in fun his "wife", grew so excited that her groans and 
trumpetings frightened all the other beasts in the Zoo who set up 
such howlings and roarings as were heard a mile away. Midst 
such a grievous farewell, Jumbo was led forth into the street. 
But when the great beast found himself in such unfamiliar sur- 
roundings there awoke in his breast that timidity which is so 
marked a feature of the elephant's character. He trumpeted 
with alarm and turned to reenter the garden only to find the gates 
of his paradise closed. Thereupon he straightway lay down on 
the pavement and would not budge an inch. His cries of fright 
sounded to the uninitiated like cries of grief and attracted a huge 
crowd of sympathizers, many of them in tears. Persuasion had 
no effect in inducing Jumbo to rise and force was not permitted, 
for Mr. Barnum always insisted strictly that his animals be gov- 
erned by kindness, not by cruelty. And indeed it would have 
been a puzzle what force to apply to so huge a creature as Jumbo. 
In dismay Mr. Barnum's agent sent him the following cable; 
"Jumbo has lain down in the street and won't get up. What 

shall we do?" Barnum immediately replied, "Let him lie there 
a week if he wants to. It is the best advertisement in the world." 
After twenty-four hours, however, the gates of the garden 
were reopened and Jumbo permitted to go in again. Barnum's 
agents now decided to take the huge beast in another way. A 
great cage on wheels was provided and moved up close to the door 
of Jumbo's den. When the elephant had been induced to enter 
the cage the door was closed and the cage was dragged by twenty 
horses to a waiting steamer where quarters had been prepared for 
Jumbo by cutting away one of the decks. Thus he was brought 
to America, and later Mr. Barnum acquired Alice likewise. 
In 1884 Mr. Barnum got the rarest specimen of all his zoo, a 
royal sacred white elephant from Burmah. The animal was 
not pure white as had been supposed in Europe but was grayish. 
No European monarch had ever succeeded in getting one of these 
elephants into a Christian country for the Siamese and Burmese 
people believed that if a sacred white elephant left their country 
some dire misfortune would come upon them. Barnum's agents 
many months before had purchased a white elephant, but on the 
eve of its departure, its attendant priests gave it poison rather than 
permit it to fall into Christian hands. Finally, however, after 
three years of patient persistence, diplomacy and tact, as well as 
an outlay of a quarter of a million dollars, Barnum succeeded 
through his agents in getting from King Theebaw at Mandalay in 
Burmah, the sacred white elephant, Toung Taloung. He came 
to America in all his gorgeous trappings, accompanied by a Bur- 
mese orchestra and retinue of Buddhist priests in full ecclesias- 
tical costume. 
Mr. Barnum built for his great show enormous winter quarters 
at Bridgeport. A ten acre lot was enclosed and in this enclosure 
numerous buildings were constructed. There was an elephant 
house, kept heated at just the fight temperature naturally required 
by these animals, where thirty or forty elephants could be luxuri- 

ously housed and trained; another building held lions, tigers and 
leopards, which require a different temperature, and still another 
housed camels and caged animals. The monkeys had roomy 
quarters all to themselves where they could roam about and work 
their mischievous will unrestrained. The hippopotami and sea- 
lions had a huge pond heated by steam pipes and here the elephants 
also were permitted their supreme enjoyment, a bath. There was 
a nursery department for the receipt and care of new-born animals, 
and in the various buildings many of the beasts were permitted to 
leave their cages and frolic at large. 
In 1887, when Barnum was fast asleep in the middle of the 
night, a telegram arrived, stating that a fifth great fire had totally 
destroyed these splendid winter quarters. His wife awoke him 
at two o'clock in the morning and told him of the telegram. 
"I am very sorry, my dear," he said calmly, "but apparent 
evils are often blessings in disguise. It is all fight." And with that 
he rolled back into his original comfortable position and in three 
minutes was once again fast asleep. 
Barnum was now seventy-seven years old, but with the help 
of his partner, Mr. Bailey, he rose as triumphant from this last 
fire as from all the others and soon had a better circus than ever. 
To the end of his days his energy, pluck and healthy ambition gave 
the people a better, completer and cleaner performance than has 
ever been given by any other showman. With his kindly face 
beaming, he often said, "To me there is no picture so beautiful 
as ten thousand smiling, bright-eyed, happy children, no music so 
sweet as their clear, tinging laughter. That I have had power, 
year after year, by providing innocent amusement for the little 
ones, to create such pictures, to evoke such music, is my proudest 
and happiest reflection." 
BATES, CLARA DOTY (American, 1838-1895) 
Mrs. Bates was a writer of stories and poems for children. 
BENNETT, HENRY HOLCOMB (American, 1863-) 
Mr. Bennett is known chiefly for his stories of frontier Army life. 

BJORNSON, BJORNSTERNE (Norwegian, 18:32-1910) 
. In the year 1832 a small boy was born in  
the rugged land of Norway. As he grew 
older the lad seemed a wild and unruly little 
fellow, and the forces at work within him as 
strong and untamed as the powerful sea that beat up on Norway's 
rock-bound coast. At school he was the despair of his tutors. Try 
as they would, they could never arouse in him the smallest interest 
in any of the regular studies. His parents even thought seriously 
of sending their son to sea in the hope that he might be tamed by 
the stem discipline of a sailor. But at last, with great difficulty, 
young Bjornson passed the entrance examinations for the Univer- 
sity of Christiana, and there he suddenly found the line of activity 
to which he could devote all that bounding energy that had here- 
tcfore run away with him. 
He discovered that at this time there was no national drama in 
Norway. Actors on the stage were giving light French comedies, or 
parading through the heavy action of some German play, or pro- 
ducing the latest Danish novelties from Copenhagen. At this 
miserable state of things young Bj6mson's patriotism took flame. 
"Danish actors and plays must go!" he cried. "Let us have 
a real Norwegian drama!" And he set himself immediately to 
write Norwegian plays. But when the first fire of his patriotic 
wrath had cooled, he was forced to admit that at that time the 
Danish theatre was far superior to the Norwegian, and if he really 
wished to do something fine for Norwegian literature, he would 
have to swallow his pride and be willing to learn of Denmark. 
Accordingly, at the age of twenty four he set out for Copenhagen, 
there to study patiently all there was to learn. Henceforth, the 
boy whom tutors had been unable to drive to work that did not 
interest him, labored and worked without ceasing. His Norway 
should have a literature. 
He wrote first a story called Synn6ve Solbakken, which was 

different from anything else that had ever been done in Norway. 
Heretofore it had been the fashion for Norwegian authors to write 
romantic tales of Italy or some other far-off land, but Bj6rnson 
had the courage to seek his material fight at home. He wrote 
about Norway and homely Norse peasant-life with an utter sim- 
plicity and freshness that were all his own. Never before had 
Norse peasant life been so sympathetically studied and so beauti- 
fu!ly portrayed. BjSmson's work became instantly popular. 
On his return from Copenhagen, BjSmson was made editor 
of The Norse People's Journal, but he also became director of 
the National Theatre in Bergen, and now at last, he began to pub- 
lish in rapid succession a series of national dramas, the subjects of 
which were taken from the old Norse or Icelandic sagas. As in 
his novels he had aimed to bring into literature the type of the 
modem Norse peasant, so in his dramas he strove to present what 
was most thoroughly Norse out of Norway's historic past. 
As time went on, a still more serious purpose took root in 
BjSmson's heart. He was no longer satisfied with mere literary 
beauty in his work. It was no longer his ambition only to please 
and amuse. He began to see clearly the faults that existed in 
Norwegian society, and to wish to bring home to the Norwegian 
people some recognition of these faults and a real desire for reform. 
So now he spoke out plainly and depicted these faults in his dramas. 
Most particularly it was the oppression, injustice and cold con- 
ventionality of the upper classes as opposed to the modem work- 
man's world that he so strikingly portrayed. Naturally, these 
plays of his cost him much of his popularity with "people of qual- 
ity." Many a nobleman now turned him a decided cold shoulder. 
Nevertheless, such work" revealed in him a still higher sense of 
patriotism than that of his earlier days, and a truer and far more 
unselfish devotion to the best interests of his people. 
From now on, Bj6mson took a strong interest in the politics 
of his time. He proved an eloquent orator and wielded great in- 

BROWNE, FRANCES (Irish, 1816- ?) 
ERE is the story of a little girl who was blind from the 
time she was eighteen months old, who never saw with her 
eyes the blue sky, the green trees, the flesh spring flowers, 
and yet found within herself a great, wide, beautiful, 
wonderful world which she saw far more vividly and could de- 
scribe to others far more clearly than many who could see. 
Frances Browne was born in the little mountain village of 
Donegal in Ireland, in the year 1816. She was the seventh of 
twelve children, and her father, the village postmaster, was in the 
poorest circumstances. Because she was blind, Frances was not 
given the education that was freely offered to her brothers and 
sisters, and by them so little valued; but with persistent deter- 
mination she fought her way to that knowledge. Every evening 
she used to listen when her brothers and sisters recited their lessons 
aloud in preparation for the next day's classes, and would learn 
what they said by heart, untiringly reciting it to herself when 
everyone else was asleep, to impress it upon her memory. During 
the day, she would hire her brothers and sisters to read to her by 
promising to do their share of the household tasks in return. Thus, 
in exchange for numberless wipings and scrubbings in the kitchen, 
she received lessons in grammar, geography and various other 
subjects. Whenever her offer of doing their work failed to win 
her brothers and sisters, she would engage their services by repeat- 
ing to them stories which they themselves had read and long ago 
forgotten, or by inventing for them the most interesting and fanci- 
ful tales of her own. 
There were no book stores in Stranorlar or within three coun- 
ties round about, nor were there any spare pennies at home with 
which to buy books. So Frances borrowed treasured volumes 
from all who came to the house and from everyone in the village. 
And thus as time passed, she acquired a better education than 
many a child who could see. 

From the age of seven, Frances began to write poems, but when 
she was fourteen she heard the Iliad read and was so impressed 
with its grandeur, that her own poems seemed paltry things and 
in utter disgust she threw them into the fire. It was not until she 
was twenty-four years old that a volume of Irish songs was read 
to her and her own music thus reawakened. She now wrote 
several poems which were offered to various magazines, and to her 
great joy and astonishment, accepted and printed. After this, 
her work began to be successful and the first use to which she put 
her earnings was to educate a sister to read to her and be her sec- 
retary. In 1847 she set out for Edinburgh to begin her literary 
career, taking with her the sister-secretary and her mother, and 
assuming, blind though she was, the responsibility for supporting 
all three of them. In Edinburgh she wrote steadily anything she 
was asked to write, tales, sketches, reviews, poems, novels, and 
stories for children. Her industry was amazing, and though she 
never earned a great deal of money, she made friends with some 
of the greatest men and women of the day, and was always able 
to fulfill her affectionate purpose of caring for her mother. 
Frances Browne's best loved works were her stories for children, 
and of these, the most popular was Granny's WonderJul Chair 
which was written in 1856. For many years this interesting book 
was out of print, but in 1887 Frances Hodgson Bumett republish- 
ed it with a preface, under the title Stories From the Lost Fairy 
Book, retold by the child who read them. Since then, Granny's 
Wonderful Chair has returned to its rightful place in children's 
How wonderful was the richness of that world which this 
blind girl found within her own darkness! Nowhere in all her 
works is there a word of complaint about her blindness; there is 
only the giving forth of a wealth of joy and beauty. How did a 
writer who never saw a coach or a palace, or a picture of a coach or 
a palace, tell so convincingly of coaches and palaces and multi- 


tudes? Whence came her vivid - -- 
word-pictures of the little cottage 
on the edge of a great forest . 
with tall trees behind, the swal- 
lows building in the eaves, the .. 
daisies growing thick before the 
door? A love of nature was in -- . I\ 
her soul. In spite of her blind- . :,,, - 
ness she found within herself a -, . 
wonderful perception of the 

beauty of the world. With her ..  ,.., -, 
poet's spirit she saw all the green -. 
and leafy places of the earth, all its flowery ways--while these were 
trodden heedlessly, mayhap, by those about her with the gift of sight. 
It was amazing, too, the wonderful reach of her knowledge--her 
stories are of many lands and many periods, from the French 
Revolution and the scenery of Lower Normandy, to the time of the 
Young Pretender in England;" from the fine frosts and clear sky, 
the long winter nights and long summer days of Archangel, to the 
banks of the Orange River in Africa. And she was perfectly at 
home, whether she told of shepherds on the moorland, the green 
pastures dotted with snow white sheep, or whether her fancy dived 
beneath the sea midst hills of marble and rocks of spa. 
Indeed, the story of Frances Browne's life is scarcely less 
interesting than her own wonderful books of fancy, and there has 
never been a nobler example of the fact that circumstances can 
never conquer a strong and beautiful spirit. She who in poverty 
and blindness could secure her own education and press on through 
every obstacle to the most complete development of her powers, 
giving to the word a wealth of joy and beauty, and never a word 
of complaint, has indeed left in her own life as beautiful a story 
as could ever be written. 
Important Works: Granny's Wonderful Chair. 

BROWNING, ROBERT (English, 1812-1889) 
In a most picturesque and lovely home in the Malvem Hills, 
near Wales, there lived once with ten lively brothers and sisters, 
a little girl named Elizabeth Barrett. The country round about 
that fine old place was wonderfully green and beautiful; 
 Dimpled close with hill and valley,  
Dappled very close with shade; 
Summer snow of apple blossoms " 
Running up from glade to glade. 
And the little girl drank in the loveliness of it all as she raced 
and chased and romped about with her brothers and sisters. She 
was very fond of books, too, and when her best beloved brother, 
Edward, began to study Greek with a tutor, she joined him and 
used to sit in her little chair with her book in one hand and a doll 
tenderly cherished in the other, persistently twisting her tongue 
around the strange Greek words. Ever after, Elizabeth continued 
to love the old Greek stories and to study them. Sometimes she 
said that she dreamed more often of Agamemnon than of Moses, 
her beautiful black pony. One year the little girl had a great 
flower bed laid out in the garden. It was shaped like an enormous 
giant. This, she said, was Hector, son of Priam, 
mighty hero of Troy. He had eyes of blue gentians 
and scented grass for locks; his helmet was made of 
golden daffodils, his breastplate of daisies, and in his ' 
hand, all ready for the fray, he bore a sword of lilies. 
Elizabeth's very closest chum in her childhood 
was her father, a fine type of English gentleman. 
Often she used to write little poems and show them 


But when she was fourteen years old she wrote a long poem of 
fifteen hundred lines, all about one of the Greek stories she loved. 
It was called "The Battle of Marathon," and her father thought 
it so remarkable that he had it published. 
The girl was a wonderfully graceful, dainty little creature, of 
a-slight, delicate figure, with a shower of dark curls falling on either 
side of a most expressive face. Her eyes were large and tender, 
richly fringed by dark lashes, and her smile was like a sunbeam. 
One day, when she was fifteen, Elizabeth decided to go for a 
ride on her pony, Moses. But Moses was not brought up, ready 
and harnessed, exactly on the moment when she wanted him, so, 
in a fit of impatience she flounced out after him into the field. 
There she attempted to saddle him herself, but as she did so, she 
fell and the saddle came crashing down on top of her. The result 
of her impatience was that she was severely hurt, and there followed 
for her years of invalidism, during which she never went out again 
in the same old free way, to ramble over the hills and romp in 
the out-of-doors. 
As time passed she went to live in various different places, for 
a while in Torquay in beautiful Devonshire, but wherever she 
went there hung over her almost continuously this cloud of illness. 
The long days when she was confined to her room she spent in 
study and in writing poetry for various magazines, but for many 
years her chief means of communication with the outside world 
was by means of letters only. Nevertheless, these letters of hers 
were always bright and vivacious, with small mention of her 
troubles. Little by little, the young woman, thus so constantly 
confed to a sick room, grew to be a well known poet. It is note- 
worthy, too, that the poems she wrote under such conditions had 
no hint of weakness, but were rather remarkable for their strength. 
One day a great man, one of the greatest of English poets, 
wrote Elizabeth Barrett a letter in admiration for her work. This 
great man was Robert Browning, and Elizabeth Barrett admired 
Robert Browning: The Pied Piper of Hamlin. An Incident of the French Camp. 

his work as much as he did hers, so that they soon began writing 
regularly to one another. The outcome of their correspondence 
was that Mr. Broxvning came one day to see the delicate little 
lady and induced her to marry him, although she thought herself 
too weak and ill to marry anyone. Her new joy and happiness, 
however, lifted her out of her invalidism and almost transformed 
her. Mr. Browning carried her off with him to live beneath the 
warm and sunny skies of Italy and here the two spent all the rest of 
Mrs. Browning's life. It was chiefly in the interesting old town of 
Florence, with its hoary, gray stone buildings and its splendid 
treasures of art, that they lived. Mrs. Browning took the keenest 
interest in the Italian people who were just then struggling for 
their independence, and as she looked down on the ardent young 
patriots from the windows of her home, the famous Casa Guidi 
palace, she wrote poems full of love and sympathy for them. 
Indeed, her poetry is always full of the deepest and tenderest 
feeling and the truest love for all that is just and good. 
It was in Florence, too, that a little son, Robert, was born to 
Mrs. Browning, and the mother, who by now had become the 
greatest of living women-poets, had as much joy in all the wonder- 
ful things her little boy did as any less famous mother. 
The life of Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning was re- 
markably happy together. They visited Venice and all the most 
beautiful spots in Italy and were absolutely one in the love, ad- 
miration and devotion which they bore to one another. Frequently 
they were visited by friends, many of whom were Americans, and 
whoever was fortunate enough to be the guest of the Brownings 
in their happy home, always came away deeply impressed with 
the beautiful family life he had seen there. 
When Mrs. Browning died, the citizens of Florence, grateful 
for her love and sympathetic understanding, placed on the wall 
of Casa Guidi a marble tablet sacred to her memory.- Mr. Brown- 
ing and his little son then went sorrowfully back to England. 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: Casa Guidi Windows; Aurora Leigh. 

verses he delivered in his school room, in his eleventh year, and it 
was afterwards published in the county newspaper, The Hamp- 
shire Gazette. The subject chosen for his poem by this ambitious 
youngster of eleven was, "The Advance of Knowledge." 
When Cullen grew to young manhood he was sent to Williams 
College, but his father was too poor to permit him to finish his 
education at Yale University, as he had hoped, and so for a time 
he pursued his studies at home. It was at this period, when he 
was still little more than a youth, that, as he was one day wander- 
ing in the tangled depths of the rich primeval forest, his medita- 
tions framed themselves into that beautiful poem, Thanatopsis. 
To him who in the love of nature holds 
Communion wilh her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty; and she glides 
lnto his darker musings wilh a mild 
And heahng sympalhy, lhal sleals away 
Their sharpness ere he is aware. 
Having written the poem down on paper he laid it aside and 
appears to have forgotten it altogether. It was not until some 
six years later that his father accidentally discovered it, took it to 
Boston and had it published. It produced a decided impression 
at once, for no American poet had yet written anything to equal it. 
From this time forth, though Cullen had been educated for a 
lawyer, he continued to devote himself to literature. In 1825, he 
became editor-in-chief and part proprietor of the New York Even- 
ing Post, a position which he held for fifty years. During all that 
time, by means of his articles in the Post, he helped to direct the 
current of national thought into the wisest and best channels. 
These important articles he had a habit of scribbling down on old 
envelopes and scraps of waste paper of which he always hoarded 
a generous store. The sincerity and earnestness with which he 
presented his principles and his quick native sense of justice, 

BURGESS, THORNTON (American, 1874-) 
HORNTON BURGESS was born in Sand- 
ich, Massachusetts, and spent all his boy- 
ood in the fields, the woods and mamhes 
around this Cape Cod Town. Here he hunt- 
d, fished and made acquaintance with all the 
animals and birds. For some time he wrote 
ature articles for various magazines under 
_ _ _ the name of W. B. Thornton, but in all his 
spare moments he was out of doors, walking or boating, and 
studying wild life. At length he was made one of the editors 
of ood Housekeeping and it was in that magazine that he first 
won his name as a story teller for children. 
His fascinating tales were first told to his own children, and 
for all that Peter Rabbit, Reddy Fox, and all the rest frisk 
through his stories in little coats and vests, trousers and hats, 
their habits are nevertheless as accurately true to the life of each 
animal as though his books were scientific nature studies. 
Important Works: The Adventures o Peter Cottontail The Burgess Bird Book 
BURNS, ROBERT (Sco{ch, 1759-1796) 
 T[N a tiny, one-room, mud cottage near the village of Ayr 
 .1.[ in Scotland was born little Robert Bums. The boy's 
--'J good father had built the hut with his very own hands, 
 but its walls were so frail that only a week after the little 
, fellow's birth, when there came up a violent gale, the 
 - -- house was blown into ruins. In the dead of night, 
mother and child were carried to a neighbor's dwelling for shelter. 
A sturdy farmer was Mr. Bums and he meant his children to 
have an education. Accordingly, he and four of his neighbors 
hired John Murdoch to keep a school for their bairns and this 
kindly Scotsman lived in turn for a few weeks at a time with each 
of the different families. Little Robert, it is true, liked to play 
truant. He loved each "wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower," 

When Robert was fifteen years old, he worked once in the 
golden glowing harvest field by the side of a lassie who sang like 
a bird for sweetness. The sight and sound awoke in his heart 
the gift of song and called forth from him his first poem. 
A sturdy, tender, affectionate lad was Robert Bums, but when 
he grew to be a youth he was sent to the country dancing school, 
and there he fell in with evil companions. Later, too, he met cer- 
tain smugglers who plied their trade in the deep-hidden caves of the 
bare and rocky Ayrshire coast, and was attracted by their lawless 
ways and speech. He began to frequent the taverns, to drink 
and join in many a riotous revel. And so the poor lad's life could 
go but from bad to worse. His father died leaving a burden of 
debts; the farm was poor, crops failed and Robert found himself, at 
last, tangled and fast-bound in a host of difficulties. The only way 
out seemed to be for him to leave his country for far-off Jamaica. 
In order to raise the passage money of nine pounds to take 
him to Jamaica, friends urged Bums to publish the poems which 
he had so long been writing. And thus appeared his first vol- 
ume of verse. It was instantly praised and Bums at once 
became popular. Instead of going to Jamaica, he went to Edin- 
burgh. From the little farm in Ayrshire he made his way to 
the fine old city which towered up proudly before him from 
Holyrood to the Castle, picturesque and smoke-wreathed by day, 
by night a climbing tier of lights and cressets. In Edinburgh 
he suddenly found himself a lion, feted and praised by all. 
But alas! success in the city was short-lived. Bums recog- 
nized very shortly that he was wholly out of sympathy with the 
standards of the world. His downright honesty could not endure 
to bow and scrape before men of high rank who had no abilities 
whatsoever. How could he, whose heart was yearning to pay 
honor to whom honor was due, endure to meet at a great man's 
table Squire Somebody or Something, and see a fellow whose 
abilities would scarcely have made an eight-penny tailor and 


whose heart was not worth three farthings, meet with all the 
fawning notice and attention which were withheld from a man 
of genius, merely because he was poor? This was a state of affairs 
never to be endured by the man who could write: 

Is there for honest poverty 
That hangs his head and a' that? 
The cowara slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a' that t. 
For a' that and a' that, 
Our toils obscure and a' that, 
The rank is but the guinea stamp; 
The man's the gold for a' that! 
What though on hamely fete we dine, 
Wear hodden-grey and a' that; 
Gie fools their silks and knaves their wine, 
A man's a man for a' that. 
For a' that and a' that, 
Their tinsel show and a' that; 
The honest man, though e'er sag poor, 
Is King o' men for a' that. 
Ye see yon birkie called a lord, 
Wha struts and stares and a' that; 
Though hundreds worship at his word, 
He's but a cool for a' that. 
For a' that and a' that, 
His ribband, star, and a, that, 
The map of. independent mind, 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

In the very heyday of his success in Edinburgh, Burns began 
to see that he should have to return to the country, don his "hodden- 
grey" once again and follow the plough. Accordingly, he turned 
his back on the city and married a country girl. Then he settled 
down to a small farm at Ellisland, with high hopes that here he 
should be happy. But poor Burns! In spite of his warm heart and 

CERVANTES, MIGUEL de (Spanish, 1547-1616) 
A quaint, little old market place in a little old town in Spain and 
a crowd of simple folk gaping about a band of strolling players. 
There sat young Miguel and watched them, open mouthed with 
interest. A blanket hung over two ropes in the open square formed 
the sole decoration of this theatre and the actors went through the 
performance wearing worn old beards and wigs and clad in naught 
more elegant than white sheepskin dresses trimmed with gilt lea- 
ther. Crude! And yet Miguel drank it all in, and the verses of 
those comedies remained fixed in his memory. Sometimes the 
young fellow took a hand himself at writing verses, but he liked 
adventure best and longed to be up and doing. 
As soon as the opportunity offered, Miguel left Spain and was 
off to Rome to become a page in the household of an envoy of the 
Pope. But the life of a page, bowing and scraping, was intolerably 
slow and ineventful so he soon resigned his post and enlisted as 
a soldier" in a Spanish regiment in Italy. 
At this time Pope Pius V was organizing a Holy League 
against the Turks, whose barbarous conquests and inroads into 
Europe were alarming all Christendom. This league consisted 
of the Pope, Venice and Spain, and their forces were to be com- 
manded by the famous Don John of Austria, a brilliant general 
who was half brother to King Philip II of Spain. The fleet of 
these three states was the largest that had ever sailed under a 
Christian flag. It consisted of galleys rowed by a large number 
of criminals under sentence. In the Turkish fleet the oarsmen 
were all Christian slaves. The object of the allies was to recover the 
island of Cyprus from the Turks. But before they had sailed so 
far they fell in with the enemy, and fought in the Gul of Lepanto. 
Miguel de Cervantes was acting only as a common soldier 
aboard one of the Christian galleys on that great day, but he be- 
haved with conspicuous heroism. He placed himself at the head 
of a dozen men and took a position exposed to the hottest fire of 

the enemy. From here he boarded one of the Turkish galleys 
and engaged in a hand to hand conflict with the fierce and barbarous 
foe. In the course of the battle he received three gunshot wounds, 
two in his breast and one shattering his left hand, which was 
maimed for the rest of his life, but his conduct won for him the ap- 
plause of all his comrades. The Christian fleet was victorious. 
One hundred and seventy Turkish galleys were captured and 
15,000 Christian galley slaves set free. 
A great storm followed this mighty victory, and Don John 
sailed away with his wounded men to Messina. Here Cervantes 
was given a special grant of money for his distinguished services, 
but so eager was he to be at the front again, that as soon as his 
wounds were healed, off he went to rejoin Don John. A second 
attempt to destroy the Turkish fleet, however, met sorry defeat 
and was followed by a long campaign in Africa. Cervantes and his 
comrades at last took the dty of Tunis whose white walls had so 
long defied them. But alas! they held Tunis for only a very short 
time. Soon the Turks recaptured it and came swarming in again. 
Thus passed four long years of struggle, during which time 
Cervantes had known all the hardships of war, the joys of victory 
and the sorrows of defeat. Having been away from home six years, 
and finding himself now worn and wounded in his country's serv- 
ice, he at length asked leave to return to his native land. This 
permission was granted him and he left Naples on a galley called 
E1 Sol, bearing letters from Don John to the King, in which Don 
John recommended him as "a man of valor, of merit and of signal 
services." But just as Cervantes, and his brother, Rodrigo, who 
was his companion, were rejoicing at sight of the Spanish coast 
which lay glistening before them and smiling a welcome home, 
there bore down upon them suddenly a squadron of Turkish pirates 
under a hideous captain who was the terror of the Mediterranean. 
Then followed a desperate fight, but the pirate galleys were too 
strong. Cervantes and a number of Spanish comrades were cap- 

a Moor who had been engaged to act as their guide, treacherously 
deserted them. The fugitives were obliged to return to Algiers 
and Cervantes was severely punished. The next year a sum of 
money was sent over by the parents of Cervantes, but it was not 
sufficient to induce the corsairs to release him. Instead, they let 
his brother, Rodrigo, go. Rodrigo set out for home with secret 
instructions to request that a war vessel be sent from Spain to 
rescue the others. Cervantes himself set about at once making all 
necessary arrangements to escape on this vessel. He gathered to- 
gether about fifty Spanish fugitives and concealed them in a cave 
outside the city, actually managing to have them supplied with 
food for six months while they waited. At last, after these long 
months of patient endurance, the day came when the ship was to 
be expected. Cervantes and his comrades were in readiness to 
board her at once. But, just when freedom seemed so certainly 
in sight, a traitor once again betrayed their secret to the pirates. 
A force of armed Turks discovered their hiding place and captured 
them. Cervantes immediately took on himself all the blame for 
their scheme of flight, declaring that he, alone, was responsible. 
Though he was threatened with torture and even death, he re- 
fused to implicate any one of his comrades. The terrible governor, 
Hassan Pasha, before whom Cervantes was brought, was a monster 
of cruelty and did not hesitate, as a rule, to hang, impale or muti- 
late his prisoners, but on this occasion he was overawed by Cer- 
vantes' astounding fearlessness, and did little more than threaten. 
Still a third and fourth plan of escape were devised. At last, 
two merchants agreed to provide an armed vessel in which sixty 
captives were to embark. This ship lay ready at hand when a 
Spanish monk, who hated Cervantes, revealed the plan to the 
Turks. Cervantes, himself, might have escaped even then, if he 
had gone off at once with the merchants and left his comrades be- 
hind. But nothing could induce him to desert his companions in 
distress. Instead, he came forward once more and gave himself 

up to the Governor. He was bound and led with a rope around 
his neck before Haman. This time he fully expected to be hanged, 
or, at least, to have his nose and ears cut off, and, indeed, what 
would have happened to Cervantes had not Hassan still hoped to 
obtain a high ransom for him, no one can tell. As it was, he con- 
demned him to five months' close confinement in chains. 
At last, at the end of five years, friends and relatives in Spain 
raised sufficient ransom money to set the captives free. And thus, 
after eleven long years' absence, Cervantes made his way home. 
He reached Spain to find his family impoverished, his patron, Don 
John of Austria, dead, and no one to speak a good word for him 
to the haughty and selfish King Philip I I. Spain at this time, in 
1580, was at the very height of her power, dominating the world 
by land and sea, wringing gold, gold, gold from her people at 
home and bearing it in great treasure ships from her distant 
colonies in Mexico and Peru. Imperial ambition and the worship 
of force were the keynotes to Philip's character, and he had little 
time to waste thought on a worn-out soldier like Cervantes. What 
heartaches were in store in Spain for the gallant Spaniard! His 
services, his work, his sufferings were all forgottenand yet from 
these trials also he emerged sweetened and strengthened, still in 
possession of his gay courage and his dauntless good humor. 
In the most straitened circumstances, he married and settled 
down, and now there was naught to do, but to take up once more 
his old pastime of writing. The most popular Spanish writer of 
the day was one Lope de Vega. He wrote plays by the score and 
was rich and honored, with many powerful friends, while Cervantes 
had no friends and no crumb of royal favor. In face of these dis- 
advantages, and struggling against poverty, he wrote his greatest 
work, Don uixote. No sooner did this book appear in 1605, 
than behold! it found instant favor with the people. But literary 
men criticized it, and Lope de Vega, from his height of superiority, 
wrote, "No poet is so bad as Cervantes nor so foolish as to praise 
Don (uixote." 


The books people read in those days were mostly romances of 
chivalry, recording the absurd adventures of wonderful knights- 
errant who wandered about rescuing captive princesses from castles 
and performing miraculous deeds of prowess, all written quite seri. 
ously. Cervantes, with his knowledge of life as it really was, wished 
to ridicule this sort of literature and show up its absurdity. That is 
what he did in Don Quixote, but so fertile was his imagination and 
so varied had been his own experiences, that at the same time he 
succeeded in getting into his book a wonderfully graphic picture of 
Spanish life in his day, bringing in all classes of society, and also 
recounting many of his own adventures as a soldier. Moreover, 
the broad humanity he had learned in his hard Algerian experi- 
ences, permeated with its sweet spirit all of the story. 
See him, old Don Quixote, a ridiculous figure in a way and yet 
a most delightful gentleman filled with generous and high minded 
sentiments. In spite of the absurdity of his adventures he is 
always courteous and kindly, the champion of the down-trodden 
and the protector of the weak. From the name Don Quixote the 
word "quixotic" has crept into nearly every language in the civi- 
lized world and conveys precisely the knight's character. It means 
a man with impossible, extravagantly romantic and chivalrous 

Comptroller of Customs at the Port of London and had to be 
continually at the wharves. His business was to watch the trade 
in wools, in hides and skins, and with his very own hands to make 
a record of the same. On the wharves he made acquaintance with 
stevedores and sea-going men and saw human nature of quite a 
different sort from that he had known at court. Indeed, whatever 
task throughout his life Geoffrey's royal masters set him, and he 
lived in the reigns of three different kings, Edward III, Richard II 
and Henry IV, he always performed the same with credit, whether 
it were the carpenter's task of erecting a scaffold at Smithfield 
whence the King and Queen might view the jousts, or the diplo- 
mat's task of arranging a marriage for his King. The height of 
his success came in 1386 when he sat in Parliament in all his glory 
as a Knight of the Shire from Kent. Thereafter Chaucer's op- 
ponents at court gained the upper hand. He was deprived of most 
of his offices and obliged, henceforth, to live in comparative poverty. 
But now what new life for his poetry! At last he wrote no more 
after the French or Italian fashion but developed a full, rich 
English style of his own. Heretofore, French had been the lan- 
guage of the court and English regarded as rude and vulgar, but 
Chaucer was the first great poet to make the homely English 
tongue the language of a new and splendid literature. His greatest 
work was *Canterbury Tales, a rich and colorful picture of Old 
I  - --.-\ ,. ,.  ,-; ., "I) .. ... , 
*Chaucer Story Book by Ea March Taptan: Story o the Cattterbury Pilgrims b: F. J. H. Darton 

DICKENS, CHARLES (English, 1812-1870) 
' -:-I_N.. a dirty, grimy blacking factory in London, 
'- , .=-[ amongst the roughest companions, once worked a 
 :_ . . . 
" -'.1 dehcate httle fellow named Charles Dmkens. He 
'-:- -- -- was only nine years old, shabbily dressed and under- 
i. ana wee 
out, pasting blue labels on pots of blacking. His 
mother was a sweet and energetic lady, but his father was of that 
kindly, easy-going sort who can never support their families, and 
now he was shut up in the wretched Marshalsea, the squalid prison 
where men were confined who could not pay their debts. The 
boy's work was bitterly uncongenial to him. He longed so to go 
to school and in his secret heart had always dwelt the ambition to 
be a "learned and distinguished man." 
When he was still a small child, Charles had lived in the country. 
In those days his father owned a few good books which the boy de- 
voured with eagerness. For weeks at a time he was not Charles 
Dickens at all, but was living in fancy the life of some one of his 
heroes. Armed with a broken rod from an old pair of boot-trees, he 
would be Captain Somebody or other of the Royal British Navy. 
Then he would be beset by savages and purchase his life at the cost 
of a fearful scrimmage. Every barn in the neighborhood, every 
stone in the church, every foot of the churchyard had some asso- 
ciation in his mind connected with his books. Now he sees one of 

his heroes climbing the village church steeple; now 
there stands another with knapsack at his back, 
stopping to rest by the wicket gate, and over at the 
village ale-house in the genial firelight, there he sees 
quite clearly a certain club of worthies from his 
books holding their evening gossip. Sometimes the 
little fellow, with his fancies and his secret ambitions, 
would tramp for miles just to look at an elegant red 
brick house that stood on Gad's Hill and imagine to 
himself that it was his and he lived in it. 

ELIOT, GEORGE (Mary Ann Evans) English, 1819-1880 
N a bright, frosty morning, in old England's picturesque 
stage-coach days, a little girl and her brother stood before 
the gate of Griff House, just at the bend of the highroad, 
_.,_] waiting eagerly for His Majesty s mail coach to go dash- 
 ing by. And now they hear the far-off, tinging beat of 
the horses' hoofs on the ground. Ah! there the great coach comes 
flashing into view with its four gallant greys at full speed--coach- 
man and guard aloft in scarlet, outside passengers muffled in furs, 
and baskets and bulky packages dangling merrily at the rear. 
That coach was the chief connecting link between Griff and 
the outside world, and little Mary Ann Evans and her brother, 
Isaac, watched for it every day. For Griff was a country 
place in the Midland section of England and remote enough from 
the world it seemed in those days of no railways, no penny post, 
and no telegraph. A charming, red brick, ivy-covered house it was, 
on the Arbury estate which Mary Ann's father managed for its 
owner. Here, day in and day out, the little brother and sister 
played. Mary Ann was always at her brother's heels, doing 
whatever he did, and nothing was missing at Grill House to make 
them happy. There was a delightful, old-fashioned garden, a 
pond and a canal to fish in. There were farm offices close to the 
house, a long cow-shed and a broad shouldered barn, where but- 
ter and cheese were made by their energetic mother. 
An affectionate and impulsive but proud little Maggie Tulliver 
was Mary Ann, and sensitive to the highest degree, moved easily to 
either smiles or tears. Moreover, she was always troubled by 
jealousy in her affections. All her life long she wanted to be all 
in all to somebody and have somebody all in all to her. How then 
could she fail but be often most unhappy? In her childhood, the 
somebody whom she loved so jealously was Isaac, her brother. 
She had an older sister, Christiana, or "Chrissy," who was always 
as neat and tidy as Mary Ann was frowsy-haired and wild. But 

M Y 


Chrissy, because of her neatness, was a great favorite with her 
three worthy aunts, Mrs. Evans' sisters, who were doubtless very 
like Maggie Tulliver's aunts, the highly superior Dodsons, and 
she used to spend a great deal of time with them, so that the 
younger boy and girl were left much alone together. But, alas! 
Mary Ann's jealous affection for Isaac suffered tortures when they 
were separated, he to go to boys' school, and she to a girls'. How 
she looked forward then to the coming of the holidays and how 
anxious she was when he came homo to know all that he had been 
doing and learning since they parted. And when she was seven 
years old and Isaac was given a pony, to which he rew so at- 
tached that he cared less and less to play with her, Mary Ann was 
nearly broken-hearted. 
In those days, if one had looked into the Griff dining room on 
a Saturday night after tea, he would have seen a pretty sight. 
There in the deep, leather-covered armchair at the fight of the 
ruddy fire-place sits the father, powerful and middle-aged, with 
strongly-marked features. Between his knees crouches Mary Ann, 
and he is explaining to her a pretty book of pictures. Her features 
are strong like her father's, and her rebellious hair is all in her eyes, 


much to the sorrow of her mother who sits busily knitting on the 
opposite side of the fire. Near the mother, all prim and tidy, 
is the older sister with her work, and between the two groups is 
the boy, who keeps assuring himself by perpetual search that none 
of his favorite means of amusement is escaping from his pockets! 
Mr. Evans was already very proud of the astonishing and 
growing intellect of his little girl. Now, when she came 
home for the holidays, she and Isaac would devise and act out 
charades before their aunts and the Griff household, and these 
were so cleverly done that even the aunts had to admit that 
their niece of the rebellious hair was a person of real ability. 
From a very early age Mary Ann was accustomed to accompany 
her father on his drives through the neighborhood. Standing 
between his knees as he drove leisurely along, she drank in eager 
impressions of the country and its people. In the Warwickshire 
of those days they passed rapidly from one phase of English life 
to another. Now they drove through the countryside with green 
fields and hedge-rows stretching away as far as the eye could see, 
and all the people they met were farmers and countryfolk; now 
they passed a fine old park which shut in some noble mansion 
house and allowed just a glimpse of its treasure to shine here and 
there through the trees. Grey .... 

steeples there were, too, pricking 
the sky, and green and shady 
churchyards. Then, in another 
moment they would come upon 
barren land all blackened with 
coal-pits, and look down suddenly 
over a village dingy and dirty 
with coal dust. Soon they would 
clatter along on the pavement of 
a manufacturing town. Powerful 
men they saw .here, grimy with 


coal dust and walking queerly with knees bent outward from long 
squatting in the mines. These men were going home to throw 
themselves down in their blackened flannels and sleep through the 
daylight. In the evening they would rise and spend a good share 
of their wages at the ale-houses with their fellows. Everywhere 
were poor cottages and small, dirty children, and over all the 
busy noise of the loom. From windows and doorways peered the 
pale, eager faces of the handloom weavers, both men and women, 
haggard with sitting up late at night to finish their toilsome labors. 
These people made a deep impression on Mary Ann. They had 
no fight whatever to vote, and had long been ground down by 
the tyranny of their masters. Such towns were often the scene of 
trades-union meetings and riots, and once, when Mary Ann was 
thirteen years old, she saw one of these riots in the town of Nun- 
eaton. It was in the year 1832, when the King had been forced, 
after determined opposition, to let the Reform Bill pass, and for 
the very first time, the poorer people had been given the fight to 
vote for members of Parliament. So eager were they to elect their 
own candidate and keep out the representative of the wealthier 
classes, that they formed in a mob threatening and attacking 
those who wished to vote for their opponents. The magistrate 
had to call out the Scots Greys to quell the riot, but on the arrival 
of the soldiers the tumult increased until it assumed alarming 
proportions. The magistrates themselves were attacked and in- 
lured in the very discharge of their duties. Several officers of the 
Scots Greys were wounded and two or three men, who were at- 
tempting to reach the polls, were dragged from the protecting 
files of soldiers, cruelly beaten and stripped naked. This unhappy 
outburst of hatred, caused by so many years of eppression, was 
never forgotten by Mary Ann. 
An old fashioned child she was, living in a world of her own 
imaginations, impressionable to her finger tips, thinking deeply 
already, and often at odds with the hard and fast accepted beliefs 

but so many houses for pigeons. Such time as he has left from 
these duties he gives to his teaching! And the room where little 
Henri goes to school! It is at once a school, a kitchen, a bedroom, 
a dining room, a chicken house and a piggery! There is a ladder 
leading up out of it to the loft above, whence the schoolmaster 
sometimes brings down hay for his ass, or a basket of potatoes for 
the house-wife. That loft is the only other room in the house. The 
school room has a monumental fire-place, adorned with enormous 
bellows and a shovel so huge that it takes two hands to lift it. 
On either side of the hearth are recesses ir the wall. These recesses 
are beds, and each has two sliding planks that serve as doors and 
shut in the sleeper at night, so he may lie cozy and snug while the 
North-wind howls without. Over in the sunny nook by the window 
stands the master's desk, and opposite, in a wall-niche, gleam a 
copper water-pail and rows of shining pewter dishes. Well nigh 
every spot on the wall that is touched by the light is adorned with a 
gay-colored half-penny picture. There is the lovely Genevieve of 
Brabant with her roe, and the fierce villain, Golo, hiding, sword 
in hand, darkly in the bushes. There is the Wandering Jew with 
hobnailed boots and a stout stick, his long, white beard falling, 
like an avalanche of snow, over his apron to his knees. What a 
source of constant delight to Henri are these pictures! How they 
hold his eye with their color--great patches of red, blue and green! 
On three-legged stools before the hearth sit the little scholars, 
and there before them, in an enormous cauldron over the flames, 
hangs the pigs' food, simmering and giving off lets of steam with 
a puff-puff-puffing sound. Sometimes the boys take care to leave 
the school room door open. Then the little porkers, attracted by 
the smell of the food, come running in. They go trotting up to 
Henri, grunting and curling their tittle tails, questioning with 
their sharp little eyes, and poking their cold, pink snouts into his 
hand in search of a chestnut or scrap of bread. The master flicks 
his handkerchiefsnick! Off go the little pigs! All to no use! A 


moment later, behold, in the doorway, old Madame Hen with 
her velvet-coated brood! The boys crumble pieces of bread and 
vie with each other to call the little chicks to them. Ah! their 
backs are so downy and soft to tickle with your fingers! 
It was not much little Henri could learn in such a school. No! 
he held a book up in front of his face but he never even learned his 
letters! One day his father brings him home a gaily-colored print, 
divided into squares, in each of which an animal teaches the alpha- 
bet by means of his name. A is for Ass, and so on! Little Henri 
is overjoyed. Those speaking pictures bring him among his friends. 
Animals forever! The beasts have taught him his letters[ 
But now where shall he keep his precious print? He has a 
little sanctum that he has appropriated to himself in their humble 
home. It is a window in a cozy recess like the schoolmaster's. 
From there he can overlook the whole village as it traggles along 
the hillside. Way down in the hollow is the church with its three 
steeples and its clock. A little higher up lies the village square 
where a fotmtain falls from basin to basin beneath a high-arched 
roof. Sprinkled over the slopes above, lie little houses with garden 
patches rising in terraces banked up by tottering walls. Between, 
are steep lanes cut out of the solid rock, lanes so steep that even 
the sure-footed mules, with their loads of branches, hesitate to enter 
them. High above all, standing out against the sky, a few wind- 
battered oaks bristle on the ridges. Those trees are Henri's friends 
and he loves them deafly. In stormy weather they bow their 

heads and turn their backs to the wind. They ,(__- 
bend and toss about as though to uproot them- _ 
selves and take to flight. How often has Henri 
watched them writhing like madmen when the ,. 
North-wind's besom raises the snow-dust; and - 
then tomorrow they stand motionless, still and " 
upright, against a fair blue sky. What are they -, 
doing up there, those desolate trees? He is 

gladdened by their calmness and distressed by their terrified ges- 
tures. They are his friends. In the morning the sun rises behind 
their transparent screen and ascends in its glory. Where does it 
come from? To the boy, those trees seem the boundary of the 
world. In this cozy little sanctum, with such an outlook, Henri 
keeps all his treasures. It is not too many treasures that he is 
allowed to keep. 
Once he was sent up the hillside by the path that climbed be- 
hind the chateau to the pond. He was to lead their twenty-four 
downy ducklings to the water. What a delight that pond was to 
him. On the warm mud of its edge the Frog's baby, the little 
Tadpole, basks and frisks in its black legions. At the bottom are 
beautitul shells and little worms carrying tufts and feathers. Above, 
the reeds and water are swarming with busy life. It is a whole 
immense world for Henri to observe. What are all those little 
creatures about? What are they doing? What are their names? 
While the ducklings rummage delightedly, head-downward and 
stem-upward in the water, Henri looks carefully about. There 
are some soot-colored knots like strands of old yam in the mud. He 
lifts one up. It slips sticky and slack through his fingers, but look! 
a few of the knots have burst, and out comes a black globule the 
size of a pinhead, followed by a flat tail. He recognizes, on a small 
scale, the Frog's baby, the Tadpole, and has found out that these 
are her eggs. Enough! he disturbs the knots of yarn no more. 
When he goes home that night his pockets are bulging with 
treasures. He has found stones that glitter like diamonds, and 
something like gold dust amidst the sand. On the alder trees he 
has found that beautiful beetle, the sacred scarab. It is of 
an unutterable blue, a living jewel that pales the azure of the 
sky. He puts the glorious one in an empty snail shell which he 
plugs up with a leaf. He will take it home to observe it at leisure. 
But when he reaches the cottage and mother and father see his 
pockets like to be tom to pieces by their burden his father cries: 

"You rascal! I send you to mind the ducks and you amuse 
yourself by picking up stones. Make haste, throw them away!" 
Broken-hearted, he obeys. Diamonds, gold-dust, petrified 
ram's-horn, heavenly beetle, all are flung on the ash-heap! 
The brook that runs through the village is also a source of 
constant delight to Henri,--dear little brook,- so tranquil, cool 
and clear. Half-way up the hillside a miller has dammed it to 
make a reservoir for his mill-wheel. The reservoir is shut off 
from the road by a melancholy wall, all darkly bearded with ferns, 
but one day little Henri hoists himself up on a playfellow's shoul- 
ders and peers over. Bottomless, stagnant water he sees, cov- 
ered with slimy, green scum, and in the gaps of that carpet, there 
lazily swims a black and yellow reptile! Ha! the very serpent 
or dragon of his grandmother's fireside tales it seems. Henri 
loses no time. He slips down again in a hurry. Years later 
he knows he had seen a salamander. 
Below the reservoir, alders and ash bend forward on either 
side of the brook, a lofty arch of living green. At the foot of 
the trees the great twisted roots form watery caverns prolonged 
into gloomy corridors. On the threshold of these fastnesses 
shimmers only a glint of sunshine that sifts down through the 
leaves overhead. This is the haunt of the red-necktied minnow. 
Come along very gently. Lie flat on the ground and look. What 
pretty little fish they are with their scarlet throats. See them there 
clustering side by side and rinsing their mouths incessantly. No 
movement save the slightest quiver of their tails and the fin on their 
backs to keep them still in running water. On a sudden a leaf 
drops down from the tree. Whoosh! the whole troop disappears! 
On the other side of the brook is a cluster of beeches with 
smooth straight thinks like pillars. In the shade of those majes- 
tic branches sit chattering crows. The ground below is padded 
with moss, and at Henri's first step on that downy carpet his eye 
is caught by what?--it must be an egg dropped there by some 

M Y B 

0 0 K HOUSE 

vagrant hen. No! It is that curious thing, 
a mushroom, not yet full spread. It is the 
first he has ever picked and he turns it about 
in his fingers inquiring into its structure. 
Soon he finds another differing in size and 
shape and color. Ah! what a great treat it 
is! This one is bell-shaped, that one is like 
a cup; others are drawn out into spindles, 
hollowed into funnels or rounded like hemi- 
spheres. He comes upon one that is broken 
and weeping milky tears. He steps upon 
another and it all turns blue in an instant. 

Ah! but here is one shaped like a pear with a little hole at the top 
like a sort of chimney. He prods the under side with his fingers. 
A whiff of smoke shoots up from the chimney! Amusing! How amus- 
ing! Henri has found a puff ball. 
Plants and insects and animals,---on every side,what things, 
of interest in the world. Among the golden buttercups of the 
meadows, the blue campanulas of the hills, the pink heather of 
the mountains, the fragrant bracken of the woods, what treasures 
Henri finds! And the birds! Once he was climbing the hill with 
an apple for his lunch, to visit his friends, the trees, and explore 
the edge of the world. But what is this at his feet? A lovely 
bird has flown from its hiding place under the eaves of a stone. 
Bless us! here is a nest made of hair and fine straw, and in it six 
eggs laid so prettily side by side. Those eggs are a magnificent 
blue, as though steeped in the blue of the sky. Overpowered with 
happiness, Henri lies down on the grass and stares, while the 
mother, with a little clap of her gullet--Tack! Tack! flits anxiously 
near by. It is, the first nest which Henri has ever found, the 
first of the joys which the birds are to bring him. 
But when Henri is twelve years old his father moves away 
from the country and goes to the town to keep a cafe. Now 


Henri may go to school where he can really learn. His father, 
however, is never truly successful. He is always poor. Bad days 
come again when Henri must leave his lessons and earn his bread 
as best he may, now selling lemons under the arcades of the market 
at the fair of Beaucaire, or before the barracks of the Pr, another 
day enlisting in a gang of day-laborers to work on the road. Gloomy 
days those were, lonely and despairing, but in spite of all, the 
boy's love of nature and his passion for learning upheld him. 
Often, too, some creature kept him company, some insect never 
seen before. Today he is hungry, but he finds for the first time 
the pine-chafer, that superb beetle whose black or chestnut coat 
is sprinkled with specks of white velvet, and which squeaks when 
you capture him, with a slight complaining sound. Enough! 
Henri's hunger is forgotten. 
When he is nineteen, Henri takes a competitive examination 
and enters the normal school, of Carpentras. He finishes the 
very simple schooling there, and then, little as he knows, he begins 
to teach others. What a teacher he is, studying fight along with 
his pupils and learning through teaching them, puzzling out for 
himself, with passionate devotion, every branch of science, and 

teaching as he goes. Now he holds his chem- 
istry class with rudest, home-made instru- 
ments, in the dusky, vaulted nave of an old, 
abandoned, Gothic church, which has once 
seemed to him like some wizard's den, with 
its rusty, old weather-cock creaking atop its 
steeple, the great bats flitting among the 
gargoyles and the owls hooting on the roof. 
Now he takes his pupils out among the fields 
to study nature "at the ineffable festival of 
the awakening of life in the Spring." 
His pupils love him dearly, but alas! edu- 
cation is still held in little esteem in France. 


The salary paid Professor Fabre is but a paltry pittance. He is 
married, too, and has a family to keep. How can he make both 
ends meet? Only by teaching, teaching, teaching, and that leaves 
him so little time to study his precious insects. He is peculiar, too, 
is Professor Fabre, and finds little favor with his fellow teachers. 
In the simplicity of his heart he cares nothing for worldly honors, 
for the forms and ceremonies of the world. He cares only to study 
and to learn. He does not like to wear the long, slick, black coat 
and high silk hat befitting a Professor. Fie! There goes Professor 
Fabre in a little slouch hatl It is unseemly! He must be repri- 
manded! He must wear a "topper" like his fellows! And so it 
goes. For thirty years of patient struggle, so it goes. But now, 
at last, he has acquired a modest income from his writings. He 
can leave off teaching and buy a little house at Srignan. Glory 
be! he can doff his professor's coat and don the peasant's blouse 
again! He can plant a flower in his old silk hat, and when it has 
served its time as a flowerpot he can kick it into bits! He is free 
for his studies! 
A pink house with green shutters, half hiclden among trees, 
was the hermitage at Srignan, and its garden a riot of verdure, 
the sweet air full of insects humming and heavy with perfume. 
Here those little creatures each told the student its secret and 
its history. How he loved them all, how tenderly he wrote of 
them, how accurately he observed them. Other scientists dis- 
sected insects and sought the secret of their life from death; Fabre 
observed his alive and sought the secret of their life from the 
marvelous instinct that directed all their ways. With reverence 
and awe he stood before the unerring Power that guides the wild 
bee and the wasp, though they may be carried miles away from 
home, back over vast and unknown spaces, surely to their nests. 
In instinct he saw the lofty evidence of God. How wonderfully 
those little creatures built their nests, how certain was the power 
that guided them, how surely each fulfilled his given task. True, 

the ugliness he saw in that little world troubled his tender spirit, 
the cannibalism, the brutality of manners, the murders and assas- 
sinations. Here was something to wish done away. But far 
above all else, he marveled at the wonderful intelligence that 
directed there, and throughout nature he adored the great Eter- 
nal Power whose imprint is everywhere. 
Studying in his sunny garden, Fabre not only loved insects 
himself, but he also taught others to love them. He was the first 
to cast away in his writings the long words and dry scientific phrases 
which other ientists used anti which seemed to him like some 
barbarous Iroquois tongue. He wrote as the poet writes. For 
him the cricket was not some creature with a long Latin name, 
but "the brown violinist of the clods," and that voracious diving 
beetle that feeds on all the other insects of the water, was not the 
Dytiscus only, but the "pirate of the ponds." He tells us how 
at break of day "the bee pops her head out of her attic window 
to see what the weather is" and how "the timid spider of the 
thickets suspends by ethereal cables the branching whorls of his 
snare which the tears of the night have turned into chaplets of 
jewels." What fairy tale could equal to him the wonder of the 
butterfly bursting from the cocoon, or the marvelous unfolding 
of the locust's iridescent wings? He had his flesh-eating ogres 
too, his pirates and assassins, his modest and industrious little 
workers with their thousand curious callings, and his pigmy 
princes clad in gold and purple, dazzling with embroidery, adorned 
with lofty plumes, displaying their diamonds, their topazes and 
sapphires, gleaming with fire or shining like mirrors, magni- 
ficant of mien. To him, the best fairy book ever written could 
be read by simply upturning a stone. And so little Henri dis- 
covered the Fairyland of Science and revealed it to the world. 
Important Works: The Story Book of Science Life oJ the Spider Life oJ the Fly 
FAULKNER, GEORGENE (American contemporary, 1873- ) 
"The Story Lady" is one of Chicago's favorite story tellers. 
Dressed in costume, she often tells stories of foreign lands. 
Important Works: Italian Story Book Old Russian Tales 

FREEMAN, MARY E. WILKINS (American, 1862- ) 
A Massachusetts woman, who portrays the quaint, homely life 
of New England. For years the secretary to Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
Jerome, A Poor Man In Colonial Times Young Lucretia 
GALSWORTHY, JOHN (English, 1867- ) 
N earnest, stick-to-it-ive boy was John Gals- 
worthy, not surprisingly brilliant, but sure and 
steady. He comes of an old Saxon family from Dev- 
onshire and was born at Combe in Surrey. At 
Harrow and Oxford he received the typical educa- 
tion of an English gentleman, after which he was off 
for several years of travel in foreign landsto Russia, Canada, Aus- 
tralia, New Zealand, South Africa and the far-off Fiji Islands. On 
an old-fashioned sailing ship off Australia he met the novelist, 
Joseph Conrad, then still a sailor, and the two became fast friends. 
When Galsworthy returned to England he began to write, 
novels, poems, plays. Strife, a gripping play presenting the strife 
between Capital and Labor, first really showed that he could so 
influence men as to bring about reform. Justice, written to reveal 
the hideous suffering caused by the cold wheels of English law, as 
it ground over criminals like some mechanical thing with neither 
sympathy nor intelligence, so moved Secretary Churchill that he 
set about reforms which have changed the English prison system. 
GARLAND, HAMLIN (American, 1860- ) 
Hamlin Garland was a farm boy of the Middle West, born in 
Wisconsin and educated in Iowa. Later he took up a claim in 
Dakota, but he soon made off to Boston and began writing stories. 
Boy Life on the Prairie The Long Trail (Klondike) 
GAI)TIER, JUDITH (French, 1850- ) 
A French writer of plays, poems and historical novels, daughter 
of Theophile Gautier, the famous novelist, and wife of Pierre 
Loft, another noted writer. She is a student of Oriental life and 
language and knows both Chinese and Japanese well. 
The Memoirs of a White Elephant 

MY B 0 


(Irish, 1728-1774) 
OOR little Doctor Goldsmith, with his kindly eyes, 
his squat little figure, his awkward, ungainly legs, 
his pale, pock-marked face and that absurd love of 
fine clothes! How everybody laughed at him, 
though sometimes with tears, and how they all loved 
him. Now, if his fortunes were poor, his coat was 

bought second hand, a tarnished green and gold with an ugly patch 
on the breast, but he strutted along just as proudly and carefully 
hid the patch by holding his hat well over it; now, when his fortunes 
were fine, he blossomed out in peach-color, claret, sky-blue! And 
yet, in spite of his vanity and a thousand other weaknesses, what 
a great, generous, loving heart! Who could do other than love him? 
He had always a crowd of children at his heels, had little Doc- 
tor Goldsmith. His favorite enjoyment was to romp with them, 
the merriest and noisiest of all. Sometimes he played them a tune 
on his flute, sang them an Irish song, or told them stories of Irish 
fairies. Again, he led them at blindman's-buff, or a game of hunt-theo 
slipper. And if the children were very small, he would turn the 
hind part of his wig before and play scores of tricks to amuse them. 
Once he was drinking coffee with a friend and took the friend's 
little five-year old son up tenderly on his knee. Moved by some 
perverse instinct, what did the tiny George Coleman do, but rap 
him a spiteful slap on the face that left a tingling red mark. The 
father indignantly took his small son and locked him up in another 
room to suffer for his crime by solitary imprisonment in the dark. 
But soon, very soon, there was some one come to the little fellow's 
rescue, some one holding a candle and smiling so tenderly: It 
was Dr. Goldsmith himself. Georgie sulked and sobbed at first, 
but Goldsmith fondled and soothed him until he began to brighten. 
Then the little Doctor placed three hats on the carpet with a shilling 
under each. "Hey, presto, cockolorum!" he cried. And lo! when 
he lifted the hats, all three of the shillings were found in a heap 
*Read The Jessamy Bride by F. F. Moore, a story o.f Goldsmith and his time. 

under one! Such wizardry! George Coleman's heart was won! 
It was way back in the lonely tittle hamlet of Pallas, in Ire- 
land, that Oliver Goldsmith was born, in a tittle old house that 
the peasant folk aid stood on haunted ground, where "the good 
folk," the fairies, held their nightly revels. But when little Noll 
was still very young, his father moved to a better home on the 
outskirts of Lissoy. This home was part parsonage and part 
farm for Father Goldsmith was a country curate, large of heart and 
small of means, and as guileless and ignorant of the world as the 
dear old Vicar of Wakefield. Lissoy was a charming village, too, 
very like "Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain," with its 
sheltered little white cottages and cultivated farms. 
At the age of six tittle Noll was sent to the village school- 
master, Thomas Byrne, and what a man he was! He had served 
in the Spanish wars, and now, when he should have been teaching 
the village urchins their sums, he held them spellbound with tales 
of his vagabond wanderings abroad, adventures of which he, him- 
self, was usually the hero. To this he added tales of fairies, ghosts 
and banshees, pirates, robbers, smugglers. So, little Noll imbibed 
in his youth far more of romance than of learning. When he grew 
older he was sent to a higher school at Edgeworthstown, some 
twenty miles from Lissoy, and on his last journey home from there, 
a mere stripling of sixteen, he met with a most absurd adverture. 
Little used to money was Oliver Goldsmith, and now. a friend 
had given him a whole round golden guinea to cover his traveling 
expenses. Noll's head was quite turned by his riches! Off he 
started on horseback over a road so rough as to be impassable to 
coaches, determined to play the man and spend his treasure in 
lavish fashion. For the night he halted at Ardagh, and, intending 
to ask the whereabouts of the inn, he accosted the very first per- 
son he met, demanding with swaggering importance to know 
where was "the best house in the village." Now it chanced that 
the man whom he thus encountered was a famous wag and, 


Time and again he failed, failed, failed. He was to enter the min- 
istry, but he appeared before the Bishop to seek his appointment 
in such loud scarlet breeches that the Bishop was scandalized and 
refused him. He failed at the law; he failed as a student of medicine. 
So at last he took his flute and off he went alone for a walking 
tour through Flanders, France and Switzerland. As he journeyed 
he played on his flute and his tunes set the peasantry dancing and 
won for him everywhere his supper and a bed. 
After wandering through Italy, likewise, he returned to Eng- 
land with no friends and no calling. At length he took a garret in 
a dark, miserable, little back court that could only be reached by 
a steep flight of narrow flagstone stairs called Breakneck Steps. 
Here washings hung out all day and frowsy women quarreled over 
the washtubs, but for the first time in his life Goldsmith set 
earnestly to work. He began to write, to drudge at writing, 
doing whatever the booksellers ordered. Now these were the days 
when hustling little John Newbery kept his far-famed shop in 

St. Paul's Churchyard, where L ,,; 
the first real children's books 
were displayed, bound in gilt 
paper and adorned with queer,  
old, hideous wood-cuts. Gold- ""  
smith did a great deal of work 
for Newbery, probably editing 
the first real Mother Goose and 
writing the tale of Goody Two 
But even in such dark days 
Goldsmith was never bitter. 
He was always inviting his 
landlady or some poor child 
into his rooms to cheer them 
with a cake or sweetmeat and "'--- - 


to play for them on his flute. Moreover, all his life long he believed 
with childlike simplicity anything that was told him, and many a 
tale of woe, either true or untrue, wrung from him his last penny. 
Sometimes, too, with that curious unworldliness that kept him from 
ever truly understanding money, he gave away things he did not 
possess. Once his landlady came to him with a sorry tale of her 
husband cast into the debtor's prison for desperate need of money. 
Moved to the heart, Goldsmith sold a new suit of clothes which 
he had not paid for in order to give her the money. He was then 
called a knave and a sharper by those who had sold him the 
suit, and nearly went to the debtor's prison himself trying to pay 
for what he no longer possessed. 
Slowly, slowly, however, his writings began to be noticed. Ah! 
Now he commenced to make worthy friends. At length the great 
Dr. Samuel Johnson himself, the most famous literary light of 
the day, became his friend. In 1764 he was one of a group of most 
remarkable men who formed a club that met regularly, hence- 
forth, at the Turk's Head Tavern. There was the big, burly, 
important Doctor Johnson, always followed by his humble little 
satellite, James Boswell, whom he was continually snubbing and 
who delighted in being snubbed by the great Dr. Johnson. There 
was Edmund Burke, the brilliant Irish orator, to be known in 
the days of the American Revolution for his eloquent speech in 
Parliament on Conciliation With the Colonies, and there was the 
famous portrait painter, Sir Joshua Reynolds. The actor, David 
Garrick, was likewise a friend of the group. All these great men 
loved "Goldy," though they often made merciless fun of him. 
One day word came to Dr. Johnson that Goldsmith was in 
great distress and besought him to come to his lodgings at once. 
Off went Dr. Johnson to find that the landlady at the place where 
Goldsmith now lived had had him arrested for not paying his rent 
and a sheriffs officer had him in custody. Goldsmith told John- 
son, however, that he had the manuscript of a novel ready for 



GREENAWAY, KATE (English, 1846-1901) 
OSES and posies and quaint little children in 
old-fashioned gardens,--what magic in Kate 
Greenaway's name! Her lovely pictures of 
children, so dainty and full of grace, seem to 
breathe forth the very fragrance of prim little, trim little gardens. 
A happy little mite was the tiny Kate Greenaway, a London 
child sent into the country to be nursed by an old family servant. 
Sometimes she ventured out with her "Nanan" into the grain 
fields where the wheat towered high above her head. What en- 
chanted vistas opened before her, stretching away forever and 
ever,Davenues of golden grain made brilliant with scarlet pim- 
pernels, blue and white veronica and gorgeous crimson poppies. 
But oh! When she could visit her far-off Flowerbank it was more 
exciting still. There were queer old stiles to be climbed and de- 

lightfully terrifying foot-planks to be crossed over such a deep, 
dark, mysterious stream. Then, away through a shady wood to 
the mill. In the woods grew'the large, blue cranesbill, the purple 
vetch and wild morning-glory, and up in the trees the wood- 
pigeons cooed. Around the mill wound a little fiver with for- 
get-me-nots on its banks and apple-trees trailing their heavy 
branches almost into the stream. 
After a year or two in the country Kate was sent back to Lon- 
don. Her father was a wood-engraver but he had not succeeded 
in business, so Mrs. Greenaway set up a shop to sell laces, chil- 
dren's dresses and fancy goods. Kate was sent now to an infants' 
school kept by a little old lady "who wore a large, frilly cap, a 
frilly muslin dress, a .scarf over her shoulders and a long apron. 
What a happy child she was, happier than either her brother or 
sisters, though they had the same surroundings. Her rich fancy 
found beauty everywhere. 
The Greenaway children were allowed to roam about freely 
in the neighborhood of their home. They had given their prom- 
ise to go no farther than a certain exciting comer and they always 
kept their word. But what streets those were through which 
they roamed! Where else were to be seen such grand, mysterious 
children guarded by their nurses, such rustling, perfumed ladies 
and such fascinating shop windows? And on that street comer, 
what adventures! Now a sailor man with a wooden leg appealed 
to the sympathy of passers by displaying a large, lurid picture of 
a ship overturned by a whale! Now, hark! a drum and the sound 
of a weird little shriek! A Punch and Judy show! Off the small 
Greenaways scamper to crowd around Mr. Punch. But alas! 
when their interest in the performance was at a white heat, just 
when the ghost was about to nab Mr. Punch, all too suddenly 
the manager would stop and declare he would not proceed a bit 
further unless he was paid with some pennies! Now the little 
Greenaways never had any pennies, and as the other small on- 
II 3 

GRIFFIS, WILLIAM ELLIOT (American, 1843- ) 
Dr. Griffis is a veteran of the Civil War and a great traveller who 
has made ten trips to Europe. In 1870, by invitation of the bar- 
on or damio of a province in Japan, he set out to organize schools 
there on American principles. He crossed America just after the 
completion of the trans-continental railway, when wild Indians on 
ponies, and soldiers at frontier forts still characterized the West. 
After twenty nine days on the Pacific on a sidewheel steamer, 
he spent seven weeks in Yedo and then went into the interior, 
the first American ever to have lived in a damio's capitol. On 
his return to Yedo, he crossed the country in mid-winter, often 
on snow-shoes, over the mountains, where wolves and wild boar 
roamed. After four years in Japan he returned to this country 
and became a minister. He has written Japanese, Korean, Dutch 
Belgian, Swiss and Welsh fairy tales. 
GRIMM, WILHELM (1786-1859) and JACOB (1785-1863) 
The first and most important collectors of German folk tales. 
HALL, SARAH JOSEPHA (American, 1788-1879) 
HARRIS JOEL CHANDLER (American, 1848-1908) 
LITTLE, red-haired, freckle-faced midget of a boy 
' dashing down the main street of a sleepy Georgia 
town behind a team of powerful horses and hand- 
ling the reins with all the confidence of a six-foot 
hostler! Joel Chandler Harris, you mischievous 
little monkey! Come down off that box at once! 
. Your mother is horrified. 
 .------ It was well for Joel that he did not distress that 
good mother of his too often, for all her hopes were centered on 
him. Long years ago the boy's father had deserted the two and 
his mother had shouldered with splendid courage the burden of 
their support. She took in sewing and the two lived in a tiny 
cottage behind the great house of a friend. 
Eatonton was a typical little Southern town of the days before 



the Civil War. It had a court- 
house and a town square, a tav- 
ern and several wide streets 
shaded by rows of fine old trees. 
On either side of the road, behind 
the trim boxwood hedges, rose 
stately colonial houses, the white 
pillars of their piazzas glinting 

here and there through the screen of odorous cedars, brightly 
blossoming myrtles and oleanders around them. 
A fun-loving, rough-and-tumble lad on the surface was Joel, 
playing all sorts of pranks with his friends and rolling in the white 
mud gullies or munching ginger-cakes with the little negro chil- 
dren. But he was a tender-hearted boy at bottom and never 
forgot a kindness. See him now behind the old school house, 
showing a wren's nest to three little girls with such delight in the 
tiny, fragile thing. And how gentle and tender and kind the little 
girls are to the lad. A simple thing, but he never forgot it, never! 
Now, at last, came the time when Joel must be up and doing! 
One day he found these words in a newspaper, "Boy Wanted to 
Learn the Printer's Trade." Here was his opportunity. He was 
only fourteen years old but he put away his tops and marbles, 
packed up his little belongings in an old-fashioned trunk, kissed 
his mother good-bye and was off. He went to work for Mr. Joseph 
Addison Turner of Turnwold, a fine old plantation, with cotton- 
fields white as snow in the season, and a group of negro cabins 
hid in a grove of oak trees behind the house. Mr. Turner pub- 
lished a paper called The Countryman and the little printing 
office where the boy worked was a primitive place, on the roof of 
which the squirrels scampered and the bluejays cracked their 
acorns. Not twenty steps from the office door a partridge had built 
her nest and was raising a brood of young, while more than once 
a red fox went loping stealthily by to the woods. 

HAWTHORNE, NATHANIEL (American, 1804-1864) 
-HE solitary figure of a boy, alone on the top of 
[ __,. a rocky cliff overlooking the sea at Salem. The 
///J surge beating up on the shore and the vast ocean 
 stretching away forever,, now grim and gray and 
 angry, now flashing into light with the gleam of 
 myriad jewels. HowNathaniel Hawthorne loved 
""J the sea! His father had been a sailor before he 
died and sailed far awayfar, far awayto the 
Indies, to Africa and Brazil. Sometimes Nathaniel said to his 
mother that he, too, would go to sea and never, never return. A 
shy, solitary lad was Nathaniel, fond of his own fancies, fond of his 
own thoughts, fond of long, lonely rambles by the sea or through 
the queer little streets of Salem with their quaint old doorways 
and tragic memories of early witchcraft days. 
When Nathaniel was fourteen his mother moved to a little 
town in Maine on the fresh, bright waters of Sebago Lake. Here 
the lad began again his solitary walks, exchanging the narrow 
streets of Salem for the boundless, tangled wilderness of Maine. 
He roamed the woods by day with his gun and rod, and in the 
moonlight nights of winter, skated upon the lake till midnight, 
alone, always alone. When he found himself far from home and 
wearied with exercise, he often took refuge in some wood-cutter's 
cabin, where half a tree would be burning upon the hearth. 
But when Nathaniel grew up, he did not go to sea. He went 
to Bowdoin College, instead, where he met two young men who 
were destined to great distinction, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 
and Franklin Pierce. While he was here certain new desires 
must have sprouted in his heart, for he wrote home to his mother, 
"How would you like some day to see a whole shelf full of books 
written by your son, with 'Hawthorne's Works' printed on their 
backs?" And after graduating from Bowdoin, behold young 
Hawthorne sniffing no whiffs of old Ocean from behind the mast, 

but returned to Salem and writing, writing, writing, living in 
such seclusion, too, that even his own fellow citizens in the town 
where he was born scarcely knew him by sight! 
Little money, however, came from his magazine articles even 
when these were published in book form as Twice-told Tales, 
and all too soon, life unrolled another picture,Nathaniel now a 
weigher in the Customs House at Boston, measuring coal, salt 
and other bulky commodities that came in on foreign vessels, 
irksome employment, but for two years faithfully performed. 
Thereafter, Nathaniel doing a farm hand's chores at Brook Farm, 
striving with other earnest thinkers, to work out a way for men 
to lead better and simpler lives. 
But in 1842 Hawthorne married and settled down in the hand- 
some Old Manse at Concord. A beautiful place it was--the garden, 
the woods behind, and the fiver, to which he often fled to escape 
from too many visitors; and all his rich life there called forth a book 
which he named with tender affection Mosses from an old Manse. 
In the years that followed Hawthorne moved about from 
place to place, but his powerful romance, The Scarlet Letter, settled 
once and for all the fact that he was a genius. In a tittle red 
wooden house at beautiful Lenox in the Berkshires he led an idyl- 
lic life of peace and joy, happy in the companionship of his wife 
and their three children. Their home stood in the midst of a 
broad valley that was like a great bowl flooded with golden sun- 
shine. In the center there was a lake and all around, an amphi- 
theatre of hills, about whose quiet peaks hung delicate purple 
mists like the softest of airy veils. Here Mr. Hawthorne would 
lie in the sunshine flecked with the shadows from a tree, and his 
little Una, Rose and Julian would climb over him and cover his 
chin and breast with long grass blades till he looked like Pan, 
the merry god of the woods, with a verdant woodland beard. 
He was constantly telling the children stories, too, and entered 
whole-heatedly into their play, for he was always far more at home 

HOGG, JAMES, "The Ettrick Shepherd" (Scotch, 1770-1835) 
James Hogg was a Scotch shepherd who began to herd cows 
for a living when he was seven years old, and received for a half 
year's wages one ewe lamb and a pair of shoes! From his mother 
and the other shepherds the boy heard the old border ballads and 
stories of fairies and giants, but at the age of twenty he still could 
not write all the alphabet. The remaining letters he studied out 
from a book in order that he might write down a few simple 
verses that he had been making. It chanced then that someone 
recited to him the poem of Tam O'Skanter and told him the story 
of Bms, the ploughman poet. That was sufficient to make the 
young shepherd resolve to be likewise a poet. One day while 
he was driving his sheep into Edinburgh he was seized with a 
sudden desire to see his verses in print. At once he sat down on 
a stone and scribbled them off on paper. Then he hurried on to 
a publisher and induced him to put them in print. These ballads 
attracted the attention of Sir Walter Scott, and through his 
kindness the Ettrick shepherd soon gained some renown. But 
though he now had a farm of his own, he still retained his simple, 
rough, peasant ways. Once he said to Scott," Ye can never sup- 
pose that I belong to your school o' chivalry. Ye are the King 
o' that school, but I'm King o' the mountain and fairy school 
which is far higher than yours!" Indeed, his best poems are always 
of fairies. When he stepped outside that charmed fairy ring, his 
music and magic vanished. 
HOLLAND, JOSIAH GILBERT (American, 1819-1881) 
The founder of Scribner's Monthly, now the Century Magazine. 
HOOD, THOMAS (English poet, 1799-1845) 
HOWELLS, WILLIAM DEAN (American, 1837-1920) 
For years the editor of The Atlantic Monthly and founder of 
that school of writers which portrays commonplace American life. 
Important Works: The Flight of Pony Baker. Christmas Every Day. 
INGELOW, JEAN (English, 1820-1897) 
Important Works: Mopsa, the Fairy. Stories Told to a Child 


IRVING, WASHINGTON (American, 1783-1859) 
_.- . h'7 ONG, long ago, just at the close of the 
%-  fl([[;.. American Revolution, when New York was a 
-2" .'][ _( little old town th all the air of an over- 
" "] grown llage, a small y was m there 
" . .._ who mother ned him Washington Ing 
 n honor of Gener Washington. en the 
7 little fellow was aut six years old his nurse 
 tk him one day to e the pression escort- 
" ing General Washington to Feder HI to 
.:- ke hs oath as first President of the Umted 
States. Pressing through the throng, the 
nur dragged her sml charge straight up to the great man and 
told him that the boy had been given his ne. With a kindly 
smile Washington stopd to give his young namesake his blessing. 
Washington Iing grew to be an adventurous lad. He liked 
to visit new scenes and obsee strange manners and customs. 
When he was still the merest slip of a child he made long tours of 
discove into foreign pas, the foreign parts of his own little 
city, and more than once his parents had to employ the town- 
crier to hunt up their wandering son by crying his name through 
the town. He loved to roam around the Batte, and to wander 
out on the piers to watch the out-going ships departing to distant 
climes. With what longing eyes did he ge after their leening 
sails and waft himlf in fancy to the ve ends of the earth. As 
he grew into boyh, Washington extended the range of his 
obviations. He now snt his holiday aftemns in rbles 
far out into the count round about New York, visiting the little 
villages where the descendts of the old Dutch ttlers continued 
to dwell, and pushing on, on to the ve distant hills. He made 
voyages t, in a rail-boat up the lordly Hudson River whe 
cliffs and towering highlands breathed forth the ve spt of old 
Dutch d Indian legends. He netrated to the he of the 

Catskill Mountains, that rise to the west of the fiver, changing 
their magical hues with every hour of the day. 
At times he peered into some dark glen, lonely and wild and 
tangled, or stood at the foot of a waterfall, a sliding sheet of silver, 
lipping down over mossy rocks, again he came out on the edge of 
a precipice, whence he could look out for miles and miles over all 
the sun-flooded valley and see far down below the twisting ribbon 
of the Hudson. He knew those mountains in sunshine and in 
tormnow in the calm of evening when they threw their long 
blue shadows so peacefully over the valleys, or gathered a hood 
of gray vapors about their heads to glow in the setting sun like a 
crown ofglorynow when the thunderclouds lowered, the light- 
ning went leaping from crag to crag and peal after peal of thunder 
rolled crashing down their heights. And at the foot of these fairy 
mountains, its smoke curling up through the trees, would nestle 
a little Dutch village, where the houses had latticed windows and 
the gable fronts were surmounted by the quaintest of weathercocks. 
Here in the shade of some great tree before the old tavern, Irving 
could always find a club of worthies smoking their pipes and whiling 
away the long, lazy summer's day by telling endless stories. 
But as the boy grew to young manhood, he began to long to go 
[urther still in his travels. He had seen and loved so much of the 
natural beauty of America, her mighty lakes and mountains, her 
valleys and trackless forests, her broad, deep rivers and boundless 
plains, but now old Europe beckoned him. He longed for her 
treasures of art, her quaint and different customs, her poetic as- 
ciatior.s. He longed to loiter about her ruinous old castles, and 
reconstruct in his fancy all the shadowy grandeur of her past. 
And so when the young maid who had been his sweetheart died 
and there was nothing more to hold him in America, off he went 
to England. Already he was known there as the author of Sal- 
magundi Papers and that humorous mixture of fact and fancy, 
Knickerbocker's History oJ" New York. And so in England he found 

I2 3 


a place ready made for him. He could travel now as much as he 
pleased and he set down in his Sketch Book all the interesting things 
he sawmlittle home scenes of rural repose and sheltered quiet, peas- 
ants in country lanes, as well as the solemn magnificence of grand 
old Westminster Abbey. 
A journey to Spain gave him the rich store of Spanish and Moor- 
ish legend to put into two books, The Alharnb'a and The Conquest of 
G'anada. Here, too, he came across certain intensely interesting 
documents concerning Columbus which had heretofore been un- 
known and what must he do but write a wonderful Life of Colum- 
bus. After seventeen long years abroad, he returned at length to 
New York and bought the beautiful place called Sunnyside at 
Tarrytown on the Hudson, not far from Sleepy Hollow. No woman 
ever replaced the sweetheart of his youth and Irving never married, 
but here at beautiful Sunnyside he passed all the rest of his days, 
quitting it only once for any length of time, and then to serve for 
four years as American Minister to Spain. But however great 
was the volume of work that Washington Irving put forth, his 
name always calls first to mind the magic of the Catskills anct the 
Hudson, gleaming through mists of romantic old Dutch legends. 
Important Works: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Rip Va Winkle. 
JACKSON, HELEN HUNT (American, 1831-1885) 
Helen Hunt Jackson once heard two Indians in Boston tell the 
tale of their people's wrongs at the hands of the American govern- 
ment and she was so moved that she wrote first a pamphlet and 
then the story of Ramona to arouse the public to demand reforms. 
Important Works: Nelly's SilverMine. Ramona. Cat Stories. 
JACOBS, JOSEPH (English editor, born in Atstralia, 1854-) 
Important Works: English Fairy Tales. Celtic Fairy Tales. Indian Fairy Tales. 
JEWETT, SARAH ORNE (American, 1849-1909) 
A Maine woman who wrote very truthful New England stories. 
Important Works: The Cou,nty of the Pointed Fis. Betty Leicester. Deephaven. 
JOHNSON, CLIFTON (American, editor of fairy tales 1865-) 
Important Works: The Oak Tree Fairy Book. The Birh Tree Fairy Book. 

JORDAN, DAVID STARR (American, 1851-) 
Dr. Jordan is a big, simple, warm-hearted, impetuous man 
whose chief work of late years has been the attempt to impress men 
with a sense of the uselessness of war. He grew up on a farm in 
New York and worked his way through college by waiting on table, 
husking corn and digging ditches. He became the first president 
of Leland Stanford University and is a scientist of renown. 
Imlortant Works: The Book of Knig, ht and Barbara. True Tales of Birds and Beasts. 
KEATS, JOHN (English, 1795--1821) 
John Keats was a small boy whose father kept a livery stable 
in London, but he was given a good education and proved a stud- 
ious little fellow. Indeed, his masters had to drive him away from 
his books to get him to play out of doors. Books! Books! Books! 
He carried them with him everywhere, even to the dining table 
and fought valiantly if he was disturbed in his reading. A high 
spirited lad he was and always easily moved to deep feeling. Once 
he fought for an hour with a butcher's boy whom he found tor- 
menting a kitten. In the lad's heart there dwelt, too, a deep love 
of beauty. The wild beauty and color of the Cornish Coast--how 
he loved it! All nature to him was a poem--the wind in the trees 
was music! Once he visited the British Museum and saw there the 
lovely old relics of Greek and Roman life. Presto! there sprang 
into life in his heart all that interest in Greek subjects to be shown 
later in his poems. Keats was educated to be a surgeon but friend- 
ship for the poets, Shelley and Leigh Hunt, soon turned all his 
thoughts to poetry. His volumes of verse, however, were violently 
criticised and at length the young poet, sick and disappointed, went 
off to Italy where he died. Then only was he recognized as among 
England's greatest poets. 
KILMER, JOYCE (American, 1886-1918) 
An active young fellow, full of mirth and keen zest in life was 
Joyce Kilmer. When the World War began he was already a poet 
of renown. He enlisted immediately and was killed in action. 

KINGSLEY, CHARLES (English, 1818-1875) 
N the rocky coast of Devonshire lies the queer 
little fishing village of Clovelly that gQes tumbling 
down from the top of the cliff to the bright blue 
waters of the bay below, its little cobble stone street 
so steep that mules can scarcely climb it, and its tiny 
white cottages clinging, goodness knows how! to the 
rock, each peering curiously over the roof of the one below. In 
Clovelly a group of old fishermen may always be found, sunning" 
themselves on benches, looking far out to sea and telling wild tales 
of the ocean. Here the rector's small son, Charles Kingsley, used 
often to come to hear the old tars tell their stories, and the life of 
the hardy fishermen, their toils and dangers stirred him deeply. 
All Devonshireits moors and fens, its fragrant country lanes 
Charles Kingsley loved it all. 
But by and by, young Charles had to leave his beloved and 
beautiful Devonshire and go to King's College in London. How he 
hated life in the city! Often he dreamed of leaving the University 
and going to America to be a trapper and hunter in the west. Just 
then, however, he fell deeply in love with a certain young lady 
whose parents could not welcome a penniless student. So he made 
haste to finish his schooling and became the curate of Eversley. 
Full of boyish fun and overflowing vitality was the young 
curate of Eversley though he was deeply religious too, and worked 
with tireless enthusiasm. Everybody loved himand he loved every- 
body, the poor and oppressed most of all. Presently he began to 
write pamphlets and books on all the great topics that stirred men's 
minds in his day, and so vigorously did he write that his influence 
spread far beyond the limits of his parish. Slowly he rose to be one 
of the great men of his time, Canon of Westminster and Chaplain 
to Queen Victoria. But the very best of his books are certain stories 
astir with the adventurous spirit of old Clovelly days. 
Important Works: Water Babies. The Heroes. (Greek Fairy Tales.) Westward Ho! 
LA FONTAINE, JEAN DE (French poet, 1621-1695) 
Fables in Rhyme, illustrated by John Rae. La Fontaine" s Fables, illustrated by Boutet de Monvel. 

LAGERLOF, SELMA (Swedish, 1858-) 
" - - .I IN the pretty rectory at Marbacka Manor in the 
".)_J beautiful province of Varmland in Sweden there 
once lived a little girl. The rectory was a lovely 
place, sweet with laughter and peaceful oys, with 
love of books and people. As a little girl, Selma 
LagerliSf preferred reading or imagining stories to out-of-door 
slrts. She often played theatre with her brothers and sisters and 
it was always Selma who hung up the quilts and blankets to make 
the stage, dressed up the little actors and told them how to say 
their parts. At Marbacka Manor Selma lived for twenty years, 
reading, writing, and dreaming that sometime a stranger would 
come to her gate and bring her fame by publishing her stories. 
But by and by the pretty old rectory was sold and Selma had 
to go to Stockholm to teach school. One day it flashed upon her 
like a blinding light that she must write a story of the Varmland, of 
the people and country she knew so well. So she began the Saga 
of Gbsta Belling. But she wrote so slowly, slowly. It was years be- 
fore the first chapter was finished. Then one day a prize was offered 
by a magazine for the best novelette and Selma's sister urged her 
to complete the first five chapters of her story. Not only did she 
win the prize but the magazine offered to publish the book if she 
would complete it at once. Accordingly, a friend, gave her enough 
money to free her from the necessity to teach and in a year she 
completed the work. GSsta Be'ling brought her fame and fortune 
and enabled her to buy back her dear old home in Varmland. 
In 1908 the school authorities invited Selma LagerlSf to write 
a book for the schools which should keep in the hearts of the young 
people of today the old folk-lore and history of Sweden and teach 
them the geography and the natural history of their country. The 
results were The Wonde'Jul Adventures of Nils and Further Adven- 
tures of Nils, books which are classics in every country, and won 
for Selma the Nobel prize, the world's greatest prize for literature. 


LARCOM, LUCY (American, 1826-1893) 
A girl who worked in the mills at Lowell, Mass. and wrote for 
the mill worker's magazine. Later the editor of Our Young Folks. 
LAZARUS, EMMA (American, 1849-1887) 
Emma Lazarus was a young Jewish girl, shy and sensitive, 
who lived in a world of poetry and books and published her first 
volume of verse when she was fifteen, sombre, tragic poems breath- 
ing the tragic spirit of her race. She worshiped Emerson ana he 
was her literary adviser, writing her what books to study. After 
the anti-Jewish outrages in Russia and Germany in 1881, she threw 
herself heart and soul into the movement against such barbarism. 
Not only did she write poetry in a crusade of protest but she worked 
untiringly among the terror-stricken immigrants who flocked into 
this country. Such a woman could well understand what America 
meant as a land of promise to the poor and oppressed of Europe. 
LEAR, EDWARD (English, 1812-1888) 
Lear's Nonsense Rhymes with their comic pictures are child classics. 
LINDSAY, MAUD (American kindergarten worker, 1874-) 
Important Works: Mother Stories. More Mother Stories. Story Garden for Little Children. 
A young boy from Springfield, Illinois, once dreamed an exciting 
dream of an old fashioned battle between armored men. He jumped 
out of bed at once and wrote the dream down in a poem called The 
Battle. But the next morning his poem seemed so much less inter- 
esting than his dream that he had to help it out by drawing a pic- 
ture! When the same poet-artist began, however, to write verse 
in earnest in New York he found no market for his poems. Ac- 
cordingly, he decided that the common man must learn to reverence 
beauty before beauty could succeed in America. With only a 
bundle of songs for his fortune, he left New York and tramped 
through eight states, begging food and lodgings as he went and re- 
citing his poems in return, preaching the gospel of beauty to the 
farmer, the most worth while element, he believed, in American life. 
Important Works: The Congo. The Chinese Nightingale 


E Y 

N an historic old wooden house, overshadowed 
by splendid elms and standing on one of the spa- 
cious streets of Cambridge, that delightful old 
university town, there lived once a modest, deep- 
hearted gentleman whose highest ambition was to 
be a perfect man and through sympathy and love 
to help others to be the same. The old house had 

been built before the Revolution and occupied by 
Washington when he took command of the American army in 1776. 
Its study windows looked across the green Brighton meadows far 
away to the Brookline hills. It was in that study just at twilight 
that the poet used to hear the patter of little feet in the room above 
him and see, in the lamplight, his children on the stairs. A rush 
and a raid from the doorway, they were swarming over his chair-- 
Alice, laughing Allegra and "Edith with golden hair." 
A scholar and a poet was Longfellow, a Professor at Harvard 
University, and yet he always seemed to have time for everybody 
and everything. Never was he too busy to see a caller, or to help by 
word or deed whoever was in distress. Often strangers called to 
see him, or children, not venturing to call, hung about his garden 
gate, hoping just to catch a glimpse of him. To such his courtesy 
was complete. He never seemed to think they had come for a peep 
at him, but took it for granted that they wanted to see Washing- 
ton's study, which he showed them with simple pleasure. Indeed, 
far from trying to hide himself from intruders, he rarely even drew 
the blinds of his study windows at night. What a sunny, genial 
nature was his, full of courage, tenderness and strength. In joy 
and sorrow, he lived life beautifully and happily, with neither envy 
nor malice and with unbounded charity. 
Through his mother Longfellow was descended from John Alden 
and Priscilla, those precious Puritan lovers whose quaint courtship 
he described so beautifully in Miles Standish. In his boyhood he 

lived amid the quiet surroundings of Portland, Maine, where he was 
born, and he never forgot the pleasant streets of that dear old town, 
the shadowy lines of trees which permit, here and there through 
their branches, a sudden glimpse of the sea. He never forgot 
"the black wharves and the slit, s, 
And the sea-tides tossing ]ree, 
And Stanish sailors with bearded lits, 
And the beauty and mystery o] the shit, s, 
And the magic o] the sea." 
His college days at Bowdoin, where he was a classmate of 
Hawthorne, introduced him to the falls of the Androscoggin River, 
wild scenery and rich in Indian lore and legend. The greater part 
of his life, however, was spent at Cambridge, writing and teaching, 
quiet days and little varied save for frequent trips to Europe. He 
was a poet of the past, of legendary heroes, and not like Lowell, a 
moulder of the present, but the music and deep feeling in his work 
have made him more beloved than any other American poet. 
Important Works: Hiawatha. The Courtship of Miles Standish. Evangeline. 
Important Works: The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew. 
LOWELL, AMY (American, 1874-) 
Amy Lowell holds a high rank among the modern school of 
poets for her imagery, color, power and vivid characterization. 
LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL (American, 1819-1891) 
The foremost American poet in expressing the ideals of the 
early American republic, and the first editor of The Atlantic Monthly. 
MacDONALD, GEORGE (Scotch, 1824-1905) 
George MacDonald was a minister, teacher and writer who 
kept through life the heart of a child. He was deeply religious, 
though not in the conventional way, and had a heart overflowing 
with charity for all. Though he was never very well off and had 
a family of eleven children of his own, he frequently added to it by 
adopting children in need, and his most enduring work has proved 
to be his beautiful children's stories. 
At the Back of the North Wind. The Princess and Curdie. The Princess and the Goblin. 
x3 o 

MILLER, JOAQUIN (Cincinnatus Heine Miller) 1841-1913. 
A prairie schooner in early pioneer days, toiling westward, 
westward, across the desert, across the Rockies, across the Sierras; 
and in the lumbering old wagon among his elders, a small boy 
named Cincinnatus Heine Miller. The boy's family were on their 
way from Indiana where he had been born, to settle in Oregon. 
The very spirit of the West seemed to breathe itself into that boy, 
the free breezy spirit of America's great western plains, where 
there is "room, room to turn round in, to breathe and be free," 
 "And to east and to west, to the north and the sun,  
Blue skies and brown grasses are welded as one, 
And the buffalo come, like a cloud on the plain, 
Pouring on like the tide of a storm-driven main, 
._ And the lodge of the hunter to friend and to foe 
Offers rest; and unquestioned you come and you go." 
Young Cincirmatus was often in need of money so he once set 
out sturdily from home and joined a wood-cutters' camp. There 
the small urchin was found by his eiders chopping away at a great 
rate, nor would he return until he had earned what he set out to 
get. Later he joined the gold-miners in California and for five 
years he rived among the Pacific Coast Indians. In Canyon City, 
Colorado, where he practiced law, he met a certain Mexican bandit 
named Joaquin (Walk-in) whose name struck him as so much more 
picturesque and interesting than his own that he cast away Cin- 
cinnatus Heine forever and henceforth called himself Joaquin. 
Soon he published a volume of western poems called ]oaquin 
et al but it was when he went to London a few yearn later that 
the big breezy westerner made his first great success with Songs oJ 
the Sierras. England grew most enthusiastic and feted him every- 
where. At all festivities he appeared in a flannel shirt and sombrero! 
In a beautiful retreat called "The Heights" on the crest of a 
mountain in California he passed the later years of his life. Here 
he rived in good old western simplicity with his mother and a few 
friends, the best loved writer of the West, the Poet of the Sierras. 
Important Works: True Bear Stories. 


MILTON, JOHN (English, 1608-1674) 
John Milton was a stem old Puritan, a born rebel from his boy- 
hood, an apostle of liberty, who hated tyranny and was yet neither 
gracious nor tender. He was Secretary for Foreign Tongues to 
Oliver Cromwell, the Puritan Protector of England, and during 
that work became totally blind. But with his tremendous power 
and force he never gave up his work. Out under the trees in his 
garden he forced his three daughters to read to him hour after 
hour, long, tiresome books of which they often understood nothing. 
With Cromwell's death and the return of the Royalists to power, 
Milton lost his standing and was forced for a time to go into hiding. 
His books against the Royalist cause were publicly burnt and he 
himself was thrown into prison. When he was released, he was a 
friendless old man, blind as well, but with that tremendous spirit 
of his he set to work once again and finished the most powerful of 
all his works, one of the greatest epic poems in the English lang- 
uage--Paradise Lost, as well as two other long poems. 
Nekrassov was one of the early patriots of Russia who dared 
to speak out against the tyranny and oppression of the Czar. His 
mother was a gentle Polish woman who gave her whole life to 
teaching him, instilling into him, heart and soul, the love of simple, 
kindly things. This made him hate all the more the ugly punish- 
ments he saw when he went on trips with his father, a brutal 
Russian officer and Chief of District Police. When Nikolai re- 
fused to be a soldier his father disinherited him. For three years 
he worked his way through college, hungry day and night, but at 
last by his ceaseless efforts he made a place for himself in the 
literary world and rose to be Editor of Russia's foremost maga- 
zine. Through his vivid pen-pictures of all types of Russian life, 
he led young Russia to hate oppression, to understand the various 
classes of their own country, especially the working class, and to 
love freedom. 



NESBIT, EDITH (English writer of children's stories, 1858-) 
NEWELL, PETER (American, 1862-) 
One of the most original of humorists, whose 
drawings of funny little round-eyed children 
exactly fit his funny little verses. 
Pictures and Rhymes. The Top Turkeys. The Slant Book. 
OEL, THOMAS (English poet, 1799-1861) 
NOYES, ALFRED (English, 1880-) 

One of the foremost English poets of the present day. He was 
born in Staflordshire and educated at Oxford. In 1913 he gave a 
course of lectures in Boston on The Sea in English Poetry and was, 
for the next three years, visiting professor at Princeton University. 
PAINE, ALBERT BIGELOW (American, 1861-) 
'. 'gA " ,,. Albert Bigelow Paine was born in New Bedford, 
Maine and educated at Xenia, Illinois. He began 
.. -.'./.. [ writing for the Kansas newspapers while living in 
 - " Fort Scott, and from there went to New York. He 
. " "-.. [has been a department editor of St. Nicholas and 
has written many delightful stories for children. 
Important Works: The Arkansaw Bear. Hollow Tree and Deep Woods Book. 
PERRAULT, CHARLES (French, 1628-1703) 
A courtly French author who made the first collection of French 
Fairy Tales which he called Tales oJ Mother Goose. These were not 
the jingles, but the stories of Cinderella, The Sleeping Beauty, etc. 
POE, EDGAR ALLAN (American, 1809-1849) 
A great American poet and writer of short stories, but of an 
eccentric genius, dark and unhappy. 
Miss Poulsson is a prominent kindergarten worker. 
Important Works: Father and Baby Plays. The Runaway Donkey. Through the Farmyard Gate 
PRENTISS, ELIZABETH (American, 1818-1878) 
PRINGLE, THOMAS (Scotch, 1789-1834) 
A Scotch writer who made an interesting trip to Africa. 

forty miles north of Chimney Butte where it takes a long swing 
westward through a fertile bottom bordered by sheer cliffs. There 
on a low bluff surmounted by cottonwood trees he found the inter- 
locked antlers of two great elk and he decided that this was a better 
place for his ranch than Chimney Butte. So he and his men had 
driven the cattle over and taken possession of the rude little shack 
already built there. It was a company of quiet, bronzed, self- 
reliant men with whom Roosevelt had surrounded himself out there 
in the West. There were Joe Ferris and Joe and Sylvaine Mer- 
rifield, seasoned plainsmen who were in charge of Chimney Butte 
Ranch when he first came out and hunted buffalo with them a year 
before. And there were the two backwoodsmen from Maine, whom 
Roosevelt had gone east to fetch, Bill Sewall and his nephew, Will 
Dow. Bill Sewall was a character. Roosevelt had learned to know 
and love him in his Harvard days when he went up to Lake Mat- 
tawamkeag to hunt in the Maine wilderness. A stalwart, vigorous 
man with an indomitable spirit was Sewall, the sort of man who 
could hew down with his axe forty or fifty giants of the forest in 
one day, who gloried in the conflict with wind and storm and was 
the happiest in his canoe on Mattawamkeag when the waves were 
highest, exulting in his strength and bidding the elements defiance. 
This man was all his life long one of Roosevelt's closest friends. 
In the fall, when everything was well settled at Elkhorn, Roose- 
velt set out for a round-up in the great cattle country west of the 
Little Missouri. The search for stray cattle took him and his party 
across southeastern Montana and halfway across Wyoming to the 
very base of the Big Horn Mountains, where eight years before 
General Custer had been killed by the Indians. Those mountains 
tempted Roosevelt. The work of rounding up cattle was now 
well over so he and Merrifield took a pack-train and leaving their 
canvas covered wagon with the rest of the party, they started up 
into the mountains. Along an old Indian trail through dense pine 
woods and up the sides of rocky gorges they ascendedup and up 


and up, driving their pack-train with 
endless difficulty over fallen timber and 
along the edge of dizzy precipices. At 
length they camped in a beautiful glade 
surrounded by pine trees, pitching their 
tents beside a clear running mountain 
brook. From here they hunted among 
the peaks round about. The weather 
was clear and cold with thin ice covering 
the mountain tarns and now and again 
light falls of snow made the forest gleam 


in the moonlight. Through the frosty air they could often hear the 
far-off musical note of the bull-elk calling. Roosevelt loved the 
adventure of the chase, but he loved even more the majesty of the 
trees and the companionship of all the shy wild creatures that 
sprang across his path. What alluring glimpses he caught of the 
inner life of the mountains. But when indeed he set out to hunt, he 
pursued his aim with dogged persistence. He might be sobbing for 
breath and with sweat streaming into his eyes but if he was after an 
elk, after an elk he continued to be in spite of all misadventures 
until he got one; if his aim was a grizzly he kept on the warpath and 
never rested until the grizzly was his. Certainly Theodore Roose- 
velt never avoided difficulties. He pressed on determinedly 
through them, and made difficulties contribute to his success. 
After some days in the mountains the two men at length rejoined 
their wagon and started on the three hundred mile journey home. 
It was long and weary travelling, galloping beside the lumbering 
wagon over the desolate prairie. After many days they reached 
a strange and romantic regionmisolated buttes of sandstone cut 
by the weather into curious caves and columns, battlements 
and spires. A beautiful and fantastic place it was, and here they 
made their camp. Soon the flame of their camp fire went leaping 
up the cliffs till those weird and solemn shapes seemed to writhe 


into life. Outside the circle of the firelight the cliffs shone sil- 
ver beneath a great full moon and threw grotesque black shadows 
across the dusky plain. But, the next morning, all was changed, 
a gale was blowing and the rain came beating down. A miserable 
day and night followed and then another. Not until the third day 
dawned could they start on their way again. That night they 
camped by a dry creek in a broad bottom covered with thick 
parched grass. To make sure that their camp fire should not set 
the surrounding grass alight, they burned a circle clear, standing 
about with branches to keep the flames in check. Suddenly a puff 
of wind! The fire leapt up and roared like a beast as it raced along 
the prain. In five minutes the whole bottom would be ablaze. 
The men fought furiously. Hair and eyebrows were singed black, 
but they kept on fighting until the flames were subdued. 
At this time they were still three days from home as the crawl- 
ing team would make the journey, so Roosevelt concluded after 
supper that night to press on ahead of the wagon with Merrifield 
and ride the full distance before dawn. At nine o'clock they sad- 
dled the tough little ponies they had ridden all day and rode off out 
of the circle of firelight, loping mile after mile beneath the moon 
and the stars. Now and again bands of antelope swept silently by 
them and once a drove of cattle charged past, dark figures that 
set the ground rumbling beneath their heavy tread. The first 
glow of the sun was touching the level bluffs of Chimney Butte 
into light as they galloped into the valley of the Little Missouri. 
Winter was hard at Chimney Butte that year as always. There 
was little snow but the cold was fierce in its intensity. The trees 
cracked and groaned from the strain of the frost and even the stars 
seemed to snap and glitter. The fiver lay frozen fast and wolves 
and lynxes travelled up and down it at night as though it had been 
a highway. Roosevelt lived chiefly now at Chimney Butte writ- 
ing somewhat n books he had started and reading much but shar- 
ing, too, all the hardships of the winter work. It was not pleasant 

to be out of doors in the biting wind but the herds had to be 
watched. The cattle suffered much and stood in shivering groups 
huddled together in the shelter of the canyons. Every day for 
Roosevelt began with breakfast at five o'clock, three hours before 
sunrise, and from then until dark he or his men were almost con- 
stantly in the saddle, tiding about among the cattle and turning 
back any that seemed to be straggling away toward the open plain. 
During the severest weather there were fifty new-bought and 
decidedly refractory ponies to be broken. Day after day in the 
icy cold Roosevelt labored patiently in the corral among them. 
More than once he was bucked by his steed in the presence of a 
gallery of grinning cowboys, but in the end it was noteworthy that 
it was always the pony and not Roosevelt who was broken! 
In the late Spring the men built a new ranch house at Elkhorn, 
plain but comfortable and homelike. Then Will Dow went back 
east to Maine and returned with a newly married bride of his own 
and with Bill Sewall's wife and tittle three year old daughter. 
These women were backwoodswomen, self-reliant, fearless, high 
hearted as their mates. What with their cheery voices, their 
thinking of this and that to make life more pleasant, their baking 
and putting all things in order at the ranch, they soon turned the 
house into a real home. Now began happy days at Elkhorn, days 
of elemental toil and hardship, and of strong, elemental pleasures, 
rest after labor, food after hunger, warmth and shelter after bitter 
cold. No room here for social distinctions. Each respected and 
loved the other because each knew the other to be steadfast, loyal 
and true. Roosevelt saddled his own horse, fed the pigs and now 
and then washed his own clothes. Through the cold evenings he 
loved to stretch himself out at full length on the elk hides and wolf 
skins before the great fireplace while the blazing logs cracked and 
roared. Doubtless he often thought back then on his own life. 
What an alert, energetic, enthusiastic, little fellow he had been, 
frail in body originally, for he had acquired that tough physique of 

his only through persistent facing of hardships. His first deep 
interest had been in natural history. O that Museum of Natural 
History he ha founded at the age of nine! And the treatise he 
had written in a two-for-a-nickel note book, "Natural History on 
Insects" wherein with the most picturesque spelling he wrote of 
"beetlles","misqueto hawks", ants, etc. all whose "habbits" he 
declared he had gained from his own "ofservation". He had pur- 
sued the study of natural history with an almost ruthless singleness 
of purpose, just as he did all things all through life. If it seemed 
to him necessary for his studies that he keep a few dead field mice 
in the family refrigerator he did so, if he felt obliged to have a snake 
or two in the guest room water pitcher, that he did likewise. For 
a few years, whether in America, or in Europe, or journeying up 
the Nile with his parents, his brother and sister, he had the one 
single aim of chasing down specimens for his study. And he never 
lost that interest in natural history, but gradually there began to 
awake in him deeper interests and stirring dreams. He was thrilled 
by the heroes of the old epics. He wanted to be like them. He 
wanted to be of the company of the doers of deeds, men who faced 
life and death calmly with clear eyes and did not rate life too highly 
in the balance with what they deemed justice. And gradually he 
became more and more deeply aware of the struggle it is to trans- 
late dreams into reality. He saw ever more clearly that men attain 
only through endless struggle against the sloth, the love of ease, 
the impurities, the doubts and fears of their own hearts. But every 
aspiration in him reached out to be one with whose who throughout 
all ages have fought the battles of Right against Wrong and he 
determined to build up for himself a clean, valiant, fighting soul. 
When he was graduated from college he decided that the real 
fighters of his day were the men who went into politics and used 
their weapons there in behalf of Justice and Fair Play, so he delib- 
erately joined the Twenty-fifth District Republican Association. 
"But politics are so low" said his aristocratic friends with their 

noses in the air. "And political organizations are not controlled by 
gentlemen, but by saloon keepers, street car conductors and the 
like!" "Very well," replied Theodore with emphasis, "If saloon 
keepers and street car conductors are the men who are governing 
the United States, and lawyers and merchants are merely the ones 
being governed, then decidedly saloon keepers and street car con- 
ductors are the ones I want to know." And off he went to attend 
meetings of the Association in a great barnlike hall over a saloon in 
59th Street. Joe Murray, a stockily built Irishman with a strong 
chin and twinkling eyes who had come to America steerage at the 
age of three, might not be so romatic as an old Norse Viking but he 
was a good fighter when it came to doing battle with the Political 
Ring and its "Big Boss" who had governed the Twenty-fifth Dis- 
trict in their own interests for years. Young Roosevelt joined 
forces with Joe Murray, standing vehemently for whatever he 
deemed was right, and the first thing he knew he had defeated the 
Big Boss and his Ring and was elected a member of the New York 
State Assembly. There he was distinguishing himself for attacks 
on many corrupt practices that needed reforming when the de,ath 
of his wife in 1883 sent him West to Chimney Butte. 
The summer days following the coming of the women at Elk- 
horn were full of vigorous toil. Much of the time Roosevelt was 
away from the ranch on round-ups. He enjoyed enormously the 
rough but hearty comradeship of these gatherings which brought 
him in touch with the ranchmen and cowboys from hundreds of 
miles around. Whenever he arrived at the round-up he always re- 
ported at once to the Captain, who assigned him to some wagon- 
boss. He then deposited his bedding outside the ring in no one's 
way and ate his supper in silence, turning a deaf ear to certain 
gibing remarks that were certain to be made about "four eyes" 
for the cowboys regarded spectacles as the surest sign of a "dude". 
There were rough enough characters among those men, too, but 
Roosevelt's doctrine of "do your job and keep your mouth shut" 

as well as the absolute fearlessness with which he occasionally stood 
up to some "tough customer" who was attempting to make sport 
of him, usually kept him out of trouble. 
Work on the round-up began at three in the morning with a 
yell from the cook and lasted till sundown or sometimes all the 
night through. In the morning the cowboys "rode the long circle" 
in couples, driving into the wagon-camp whatever animals were 
found in the hills. The afternoon was spent in the difficult and 
dangerous work of "cutting out" of the herd thus gathered the 
cattle belonging to the various brands. Representatives of each 
brand rode in succession into the midst of the herd, working the ani- 
mal they were after gently to the edge, and then, with a sudden dash 
taking it off at a run. At night there was often guard duty about 
the restless herd. One evening a heavy storm broke over the camp. 
There was a terrific peal of thunder, and the lightning struck almost 
into the herd. Heads and tails high, off plunged the panic stricken 
cattle into the blackness, and for forty hours Roosevelt was in the 
saddle driving the scattered herd together again. After that the 
cow-punchers decided that the man with the four eyes "had the 
stuff in him" after all. And so, quietly "doing his job" day by day, 
accepting the discipline of the camp and the orders of the Captain 
of the Round-up, Roosevelt gradually won a place for himself in 
the rough world of the Bad Lands. He was not a crack rider or a 
fancy roper, just as it was true that he had never had a special gift 
in any line, but he was unflinchingly persistent in whatever he un- 
dertook and he put into all he did every ounce of energy and en- 
thusiasm in him, so that he often outdid far more gifted men.. 
Winter passed and Spring came early that year at Elkhorn. 
About the middle of March a great ice jam came slowly drifting 
past the ranch, roaring and crunching, and piling the ice high on 
both banks, even grinding against the porch and the cottonwood 
trees and threatening to wash the house away. But the force of 
the freshet gradually carried the jam on. Then Bill Sewall dis- 

others. At the end of an hour, they saw them leisurely coming 
through the grass. Roosevelt cried at once, "Hands up!" The 
Swede obeyed but Finnegan glared and hesitated. Then Roosevelt 
advanced on him coveting him with his gun and repeating, "You 
thief, put up your hands." With an oath Finnegan dropped his 
rifle and obeyed. 
That night the men from Elkhom camped where they were, 
guarding their prisoners well, but the next day they found that 
their return passage had been barred by the ice jam which had 
floated down from Elkhom. Day after day they waited hoping 
for a thaw. Their provisions ran short and there was no game to 
be found in that neighborhood. They were reduced for food to 
unleavened bread made with muddy water. So the days passed 
with utter tediousness and the thieves had to be watched every min- 
ute. At last Roosevelt, scouting the neighborhood, found an out- 
lying cow-camp where he got a wiry, fractious little horse. On this 
he rode fifteen miles to a ranch where he secured supplies and a 
prairie schooner, hiring the ranchman to drive the wagon himself 
to the camp by the ice-bound fiver. Thus thoroughly provisioned 
again, Sewall and Dow waited with the boats while Roosevelt 
started out with the thieves and the prairie schooner for the nearest 
jail, a desolate ten days' journey across the prairie. Not for a 
moment did Roosevelt dare abate his watch on the prisoners so he 
made them get up into the wagon while he walked behind with his 
gun. Hour after hour he waded through ankle-deep mud, hungry, 
cold, fatigued, but now, as ever, determined to carry the matter 
through at any cost. The very last night they put up at the squalid 
hut of a frontier granger, but Roosevelt, weary as he was, dared not 
sleep. He crowded the prisoners into an upper bunk and sat against 
the cabin door till dawn with his gun across his knee. On the 
following evening he deposited the thieves in jail. 
And so Theodore Roosevelt, living, talking, working, facing 
dangers and suffering hardships with Dow, Sewall, Merrifield, 


Ferris and countless other stalwart citizens of the Bad Lands, came 
very close to the heart of the "plain American." But the day came 
at last when he found he must leave his beloved Elkhorn and re- 
turn to New York. His ranch did not pay from the money stand- 
point. Moreover he was to marry again and life was calling 
him back to be a "doer of deeds" in another way. 
Soon it was dishonesty and corruption he was fighting as a mem- 
ber of the United States Civil Service Commission. In 1895 
he was doing the same as Police Commissioner of the City of New 
York, and when the tyranny and cruelty of Spain toward the little 
island of Cuba forced the United States to declare war on Spain, 
Roosevelt, then Assistant Secretary of the Navy under President 
McKinley, resigned his post at once and offered to recruit a regi- 
ment of mounted riflemen from among the skilled horsemen of 
the plains. Of this organization, the Rough Riders, Leonard 
Wood was Colonel and Theodore Roosevelt was Lieutenant Colo- 
nel. These were days for Roosevelt to remember his old friends 
of the Bad Lands and they came flocking to his standard. But 
the Rough Riders were not all cowboys; they were bronco-busters 
and Fifth Avenue aristocrats, western badmen and eastern college 
boys, a valiant, if motley crew. After the first battle of Las 
Guasimos in the Cuban jungle, Wood was advanced in command 
and Roosevelt was made Colonel of the Rough Riders. So it 
happened that at the decisive battle of San Juan Hill on the 
road to Santiago, it was Roosevelt, his face streaked with dirt and 
sweat, his trousers and boots caked with Cuban mud, a blue ban- 
dana handkerchief with white polka dots floating like a banner 
from his soiled campaign hat, whom the Rough Riders followed 
over crest after crest of the San Juan Hills, on, on to victory. 
Overnight Roosevelt became a popular hero. He returned to 
the United States to be elected Governor of New York and two 
years later at the National Republican Convention a perfect stam- 
pede of western delegates forced him against his will to accept the 



*SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM (English, 1564-1616) 
Beyond Sir Hugh Clopton's noble old stone bridge that spans 
the Avon with fourteen splendid arches rise the quaint gables and 
cathedral spire of good old Stratford town. In the days of Queen 
Elizabeth the houses were ancient plaster buildings crossed with 
timber and each had at the sides or rear a gay little garden vivid 
with color. In one of the best of those houses on Henley Street, 
lived Master Will Shakespeare, a high spirited lad, with a fine, 
courtly bearing and pleasant hazel eyes. His father, John Shakes- 
peare, was a well-to-do merchant, a trader in hides, leather-goods, 
wool, meats and goodness knows what else. He had once been 
High Bailiff or Mayor of the town. His mother, Mary Arden 
Shakespeare, was sweet and womanly, and the boy loved her 
dearly. Happy, indeed, was his merry little home circle. 
Over in the old, old grammar school, whose jutting second story 
abutted on the street, Master Will and the other Stratford ur- 
chins learned their lessons, but it was a gay and joyous life, in 
spite of lessons, that they led in Stratford town. For Warwick- 
shire in those days was divided into two well marked divisions by 
the river Avon. To the south lay the rich green pasture land of 
Feldon, stretching away to the blue line of the distant Cotswold 
hills, and dotted here and there by herds of cattle and flocks of 
emow-white sheep. Amid little clumps of protecting elms nestled 
*Read Master Skylark, a story of Shakespeare's time, by John Bennett 

cozy homesteads, and past the well tilled fields flowed placid rivers, 
their limpid waters overhung by alders and silver willows. To the, 
north of the Avon, howeverAh! there was no cultivated land, 
but the wild, free forest of Arden, sweeping out over hill and dale for 
twenty miles, the delight of all boyish hearts. When school time 
was over, then for Will Shakespeare and the other Stratford boys 
it was Heigh and a Ho! for the Forest of Arden. O, the sweetness 
of those woodland haunts, the exhilaration and breadth and joy! 
The boys raced through leafy covert and sunny glade, past giant 
oaks and tangled thickets, now skipping from stone to stone across 
the brawling brooks, now cleaving the woodland stillness with 
their shrill young voices. Sometimes a dappled herd of deer 
would sweep away before them across an open lawn or twinkle 
through the leaves amid the shadowy bracken, while groups of 
timid rabbits fed here and there on the tender leaves. Will Shake- 
speare talked with every keeper and woodman in the forest and 
knew intimately all the ins and outs of that glorious sylvan life. 
At times, too, young Will wandered through all the picturesque 
towns and little forest villages round about, past the old gray 
castles and abbeys that loomed within their parks shut off by 
palings from the wilderness of Arden. Some of these castles had 
been abandoned and dismantled during the Wars 
of the Roses. Silent now as the surrounding for- 
est they stood, half mined, and haunted with 
shadowy memories of lords and ladies and all the ., 
stately revelry that had once held sway within ..  -_.: 
their walls. It was a country full of interest, full 
of history, full of story, full of stirring border . .', :;: 
legends of the days when the English stood stur- ..... _... "-.:.,. 
dily against the insurgents of Wales. Every hill 
and stream, every grim old abbey and castle had .. ,...-, _ 
its heroic tale of long ago. '"- _..,.[ 
On market days and fair days there was great  - " 

excitement in the town itself for Master Will Shakespeare, for 
Stratford was the center of a great grazing and agricultural district. 
On a bright summer's day Will would rise with the sun and make off 
from Henley Street to watch the droves of slow oxen come crowding 
in over Clopton Bridge, and the herds of Herefordshire cows, lowing 
anxiously after their skittish young calves. Then he would follow 
the cattle to Rother Market, where the cattle dealers gathered 
about Market Cross, and observe the humors of the ploughman 
and drovers, scarcely less stolid and deliberate of movement and 
speech than their oxen. Over by the High Cross, a solid stone 
building with steps below and open arches above, the traders in 
corn and country produce held market. /k gay and lively scene 
was Stratford on market day. 
Not far from Stratford lay the little forest village of Shitter- 
field, where Will's grandfather and Uncle Henry Shakespeare had 
farms. Every boundary tree and stone, every pond and sheep- 
pool, every barn and cattleshed on the way to his Uncle Henry's 
farm Will knew by heart, for he dearly loved the place and spent 
many a happy day there. At Snitterfield Will trotted around after 
his uncle, poking into all the byres and barns and poultry yards, 
and the man was charmed at the boy's eager interest. Now and 
again from a safe nook on the bushy margin of a pool, he enjoyed 
the fun and excitement of the sheep washing, or watched the mys- 
teries of the sheep shearing. Then he would remain to the shear- 
ing feast and see the young maid who was chosen Queen of the 
Festival receive her rustic guests and distribute among them her 
gifts of flowers. Indeed, young Will Shakespeare's youth was 
passed amid the labors and pastimes, the recurring festivals and 
varying round of a rural community. Each incident of the year, 
seedtime and harvest, summer and winter, brought its own group 
of picturesque merry-makings in those forest farms and villages. 
The chief holiday of all was May-day with its masques and 
morris-dances, its hobby horses making continuous merriment, and 

its maypoles decked with gay-colored streamers and fragrant gar- 
lands. What a day it was! In the streets of Stratford leafy screens 
and arches were erected, and everywhere were garlands of flowers, 
brought in from the forest at dawn by rejoicing youths and maid- 
ens. A spontaneous outburst of joy, a gladsome welcome to the 
re-awakening life and vernal freshness of the Spring! Sometimes, 
too, there were acted out on May-day the exploits of Robin Hood 
and Maid Marian, but it was usually at Whitsuntide, the next 
important holiday after May-day, that those exhibitions nearest to 
play-acting were given. What queer old pageants they were, fol- 
lowing the procession of trade-guilds and the usual holiday sports. 
The very oldest form of play that the people loved in England 
was the miracle or mystery play, presenting usually some tale 
from the Bible. At first, long years before Shakespeare's time, 
these plays had been given in the churches by the clergy, then, 
gradually they had moved out to the church yard and the actors 
had changed from the clergy to citizens, members of the various 
trade guilds. Later still they were given on a cart, called the pag- 
eant cart, which was moved about from place to place, giving a 
performance wherever it stopped. They would play the story of 
Noah's flood, or Adam and Eve, or the Destruction of Jerusalem, 
or some such subject. The lower part of the cart was draped with 
cloth which hid the wheels, and behind this screen the actors 
dressed and kept their machinery. In the Destruction of Jeru- 
salem, for example, it was necessary to keep there a quantity of 
starch to make a storm, some barrels which were rolled around to 
produce thunder, and a windlass to make an earthquake. The 
action of the play took place on the flat part of the cart, but some- 
times the actors stepped down into the street, and the lower part of 
the cart had to be used whenever they wanted to present such a 
scene as the grim and gaping jaws of Hell, whence issued devils, 
dressed in black and yellow to represent flames. Herod and Pilate, 
Cain and Judas, and certain turbaned Turks and infidels as well as 

M Y 


the Devil were favorite characters of these mysteries. The Devil 
wore black leather covered with hair and had a grotesque painted 
head, and most of the actors either wore masks or had their faces 
much painted. Vice was a constant attendant on the Devil, but he 
gradually changed into a mere buffoon or clown. In time moral- 
ity plays became even more popular than the mysteries. In the 
moralities, all manner of Vices and all manner of Virtues were por- 
trayed as persons who did battle with each other in order to gain 
possession of man's soul. It was some such performances as these 
that Will Shakespeare used to see as a boy, though in his day it 
was rather customary to draw the pageant cart up in the courtyard 
of some inn. The common people would then crowd around it, 
standing, while the ticker ones paid a large fee to have seats in the 
balconies or windows of the inn that overlooked the courtyard. 
Coventry, a town near Stratford, was one of the chief center 
for the production of miracle plays and Shakespeare must have 
gone over there sometimes to see them. Moreover, the various 
trade guilds, plasterers, tanners, armourers, hosiers, etc. who pre- 

When Will was only eighteen, he was often to be seen making 
off across the fields, pied with daisies, to the little hamlet of Shot- 
tery, which lay half concealed by aged elms, its cozy homesteads 
nestling amid blossoming fruit-trees and brilliant gardens. Here 
in a lovely old cottage, with a quaint thatched roof, lived Anne 
Hathaway, the daughter of a friend of Will's father, a maid 
whom he had known all his life. In the garden and through 
the primrose lanes the two lingered often together and soon there 
was news o their wedding. Boy that he was, Will was only nine- 
teen when his first daughter, Suzanne, was born. Now what was 
there to do? He had a family on his hands to support and his 
father's business grew every day worse and worse. Two years 
later twins were born to him, a boy and a girl, Hamnet and Judith, 
and then an event occurred which made the young man decide 
that the only thing for him to do was t6 be off to London and seek 
there his fortunes as a player, as doubtless he had long desired to 
do. He was off hunting one day with some young comrades when 
they pursued a fine deer into Fullbroke Park, or perhaps across 
the shallow ford of the fiver to Charlecote Park, the property of a 
sour and gloomy old Puritan, Sir Thomas Lucy, a man of aristo- 
cratic pride and narrowness who hated all youthful frolics and 
merriment. Just as they had killed the buck the youths fell in 
with one of Sir Thomas's keepers, who insisted violently that they 
had no fight to hunt where they were and accused them of deer- 
stealing. Master Will defended himself right spiritedly against 
the charge and so aroused the wrath of Sir Thomas that he com- 
plained to the Stratford authorities. They, fearing to offend so 
rich and powerful a man, doubtless let it be known to Will that he 
would better leave town for a time. Accordingly, behold young 
Will, bidding his wife and babes farewell and off for London town. 
It was about 1585 or 1587 when Will Shakespeare arrived in 
London. In those days players were just beginning to be recog- 
nized as respectable folk. Certain writers of education, such as 

Greene and Peele and Marlowe, had been among the first to think 
the writing of plays a vocation worthy of their dignity, and were 
turning out plays vastly more like modern dramas than the old 
morality and miracle plays. Ten years before, Queen Elizabeth 
had given the Earl of Leicester's players the first legal permit to 
act in certain places in London, and James Burbage, the leader of 
these players had built The Theatre at Shoreditch, just outside the 
boundaries of London, for mayor and common council still frowned 
on plays within the city. In building his theatre, Burbage took 
his plan from the old courtyards of the inns where it had been cus- 
tomary to draw up the pageant carts. The square yard where 
poorer people stood, became the pit of the theatre, the pageant 
cart the stage, and the windows whence the wealthier class had 
looked on, the gallery or boxes. The stage and galleries were the 
only part of the building covered, which was none too comfortable 
for people in the pit if a sudden storm came pelting down. But 
rude as this theatre was, to Burbage belongs the honor of first 
establishing theatres as a part of city life and removing from actors 
the stigma of being strolling players. 
Here at The Theatre Master Will first found occupation by 
holding the horses of the gallants who attended, and organizing a 
corps of boys to help him. But he soon advanced from that work 
to acting within the theatre, then to writing over faulty old plays, 
and at last to writing those splendid plays of his own. In a very 
short time he had surpassed all the dramatists of his day, Greene 
and Peele and Marlowe and all, and held the foremost place in the 
hearts of the play-going public. Yet with all his success he kept 
his head marvelously well, avoiding all the wild dissipations of his 
fellow-dramatists, though he loved life and mirth as well as any 
and hadn't a trace of harshness or severity in his character. He 
worked hard, studying at French and Italian in his spare time, 
saving money for his family and making yearly visits to Stratford. 
He was first a member of the Earl of Leicester's players which 

until long after Shakespeare's time that women appeared on the 
stage. The hoisting of a flag and blowing of a trumpet bade all 
be still to hear the play. 
What an age of awakened national life and stirring spirit was 
that of Elizabeth, when the minds of men had burst the bonds of 
the Dark Ages and were eagerly inquiring and adventuring every- 
where. Along the fiver side and in noble houses on the Strand 
were the hardy mariners and adventurous sea captains, Drake, 
Hawkins and Frobisher, who had driven their dauntless keels fear- 
lessly into the unknown seas of the new world, in order to push 
back the limits of man's knowledge. The greater number of eager 
and excited listeners who crowded the rude theatres from floor to 
roof had shared the adventurous exploits of the age and all felt the 
keenest interest in life and action. So the drama of the day became 
the mirror in which all these active forces were reflected. And 
beside the Americas there was another new world which men were 
most anxious to explore in that age of awakened inquiry, the world 
of human nature, heretofore left so little questioned and under- 
stood. All the traits and impulses of that nature, good and bad, 
its high hopes and aspirations, its fears and sorrows, its bigness 
and its littleness,--there was need of a chart to point them all out. 
[nto that unknown sea sailed the intrepid mariner Shakespeare 
and charted it in his mighty dramas as none other has ever done, 
the great Columbus of the newly discovered world of man's heart 
and mind and spirit. 
For twenty years he worked actively in London, twenty long 
years, but at last a great wave of home-yearning called him back 
to the primrose lanes of Stratford. He had already bought a fine 
house there for his family and here he settled down, to spend his 
remaining years in peace and quiet, honored and loved by all. No 
other man ever knew the hearts of men and women as Shakespeare 
did. He still remains the greatest dramatist of all ages and all races 
who wrote "not for an age but for all time". 
Read Tales .from Shakespeare by Charles and Mary Lamb 


SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE (English, 1792-1822) 
 .ERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY was the son of a stub- 
born, old, English baronet, Sir Timothy Shelley, who 
was tyrannical and harsh in his own home and yet 
observed ceremoniously all the outward forms of reli- 
. gion. The boy had a beautiful, gifted mother, but 
his father's character made him early learn to hate oppression and 
a religion that was all show and no spirit. At school he was a shy 
boy, persecuted and made fun of by his fellows, and this still 
further strengthened his hatred of oppression. At seventeen he 
was expelled from Oxford for writing a pamphlet concerning reli- 
gion. His father then angrily forbade him the house and he made 
the sad mistake of marrying a young girl of sixteen, Harriet 
Westbrook, a school friend of his sister's, who appealed to his sense 
of chivalry and made him believe that she was ill-used at home. 
Young Shelley had a perfect passion for justice and freedom, down- 
right sincerity and truth, and he longed to establish an ideal state 
of love and brotherhood. At nineteen the fiery youth set off to 
redress the wrongs of Ireland. A little later, he wrote several 
revolutionary pamphlets in England which he sent to sea in bottles 
and boxes for winds and waves to circulate. These made it neces- 
sary for him to flee for a time into Wales. When he was twenty 
one, he separated from his young wife and went to France and 
Italy where he spent the rest of his life with Mary Godwin Shelley, 
his second wife. He was a great friend of Byron and Keats and 
one of England's foremost poets. At thirty he was drowned while 
sailing on the Mediterranean. 
SHEPARD, ODELL (American poet and literary critic, 1884-) 
SOUTHEY, ROBERT (English, 1774-1843) 
Poet of the Lake District. Friend of Wordsworth and Coleridge. 
SPENSER, EDMUND (English, 1552-1599) 
One of the supremely great poets of Queen Elizabeth's period. 
SPYRI, JOHANNA (Swiss writer of children's stories, 1829-) 
Cornelli Heidi. Moni, the Goat Boy. Rico and Wiseli. 


STEDMAN,EDMUND CLARENCE(American critic,1833-1908) 
STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS (Scotch, 1850-1894) 
in Edinburgh. He was the son of a noted 
engineer who had the interesting task of 
planning and building great light-houses 
that flashed out their signal lights all along 
the Scottish coast. The boy's father in- 
tended him likewise for an engineer, but 
Robert was scarcely strong enough for such 
a life, so he studied to be a lawyer. When 
he was a young man he once went off with his canoe to paddle 
through the canals and rivers, the quaint, trim villages and pleasant 
fields of Belgium and France. He followed this with a walking trip 
through the rich beauties of Southern France, having as his only 
companion a particularly stubborn donkey. When he returned to 
England he wrote so delightfully of these journeys, An Inland 
Voyage, and Tavels With A Donkey, that his friends began to urge 
him to give up other work and do nothing but write. 
A year or so later, Stevenson heard that the young lady whom 
he was to marry, a Mrs. Osboume, was ill in California, so he 
set out to join her. Travel was expensive and he had little 
money, so what did he do but go as a steerage passenger on the 
boat among all the hodge-podge of immigrantsueer characters, 
jabbering the strange tongues of half the countries of Europe. 
Then he crossed the American continent on an immigrant train. 
In San Francisco he married Mrs. Osboume and after some months 
in a desolate mining camp, he returned with her and his little 
stepson to Scotland. Stevenson had never been strong or well, 
though he was the cheeriest man imaginable and never let ill 
health keep him from work. In the years following his marriage 
he wandered about with his family into all sorts of curious places, 
seeking a spot where he could live more comfortably. At last he 
i6 3 

TAGORE, RABINDRANATH (East Indian, 1861-) 
AGORE was born in Calcutta. Very early he 
 lost his mother, and his regret colors all his 
 ,   " poems of mother and child love. He was a lonely 
little fellow for his father was often away from 
4  i ". home. Nature, the clouds in the sky, the flowers, 
" i the his beloved A 
., harsh master made his school days very unhappy, 
,- :.4  so he ran away. Then his father gave him pri- 
F- -   . vate tutors and took him to the Himalayas where 
 he studied and began to write songs and stories. 
At twenty-three he married and was sent to manage his father's 
estates on the Ganges. He went unwillingly at first, but soon he 
realized with deep satisfaction the joy of coming so closely in touch 
with his people. Here he wrote many of his best plays. When he 
was forty he lost his wife, his daughter and his young son. In his 
sorrow and restlessness he started a boy's school which he aimed 
to make a model place where boys could be educated with all the 
freedom and self government possible. Tagore is one of the great- 
est East Indian thinkers. 
TAYLOR, BAYARD (American writer and traveler, 1825-'78) 
TAYLOR, JANE (English children's poet, 1783-1824) 
TENNYSON, ALFRED, LORD (English, 1809-1892) 
Alfred Tennyson's father was the rector of Somersby and the 
boy lived in a quiet, pleasant home where there was plenty of 
time for reading and reflection. He was always the story-teller 
for his brothers and sisters, and his favorite game was to write 
endless romances which he slipped under the dishes at table to 
be read when the business of eating was over. When he was only 
eighteen he and his brother Charles published a volume of verse 
called, Poems by Two Brothers. From then on, Alfred slowly rose, 
struggling often against poverty, to be Poet Laureate and the best 
loved poet in England. 
Idylls of the King. The Princess. Tennyson for the Young by Ainger. 


loved very dearly. She used to 
welcome all sorts of queer pil- 
grims to Bright Glade, beggars 
and monks and poor despised 
wanderers, so the boy's life was 
always simple and unworldly. 
One day Lyof's brother, Nich- 
olas, invented a game called "ant 
brothers." He bade Lyof and 
the other two brothers crawl 


under two armchairs, hide themselves from view with handker- 
chiefs and boxes, and cling lovingly together in the dark. Then 
he told them that he possessed a secret, which, when it was known, 
would make all men happy. There would be no more disease, no 
trouble, and no one would be angry with anyone else. All would 
love one another and become "ant brothers." This secret he 
said he had written on a green stick and buried by the road at the 
edge of a certain ravine. The boys played the game often, but the 
great secret was never revealed to them. Nevertheless, that se- 
cret, the way for men to cease from suffering, to leave off quarrel- 
ing and be always happy, was what Lyof sought all his life. 
At Bright Glade Tolstoy lived with a wife and thirteen jolly 
children, writing books and joining in all the family sports. But 
more and more he came to hate the idle, frivolous, useless life of 
the rich, the injustice of governments and society which gave so 
much to the rich and so little to the poor, the jealousies and 
selfishness that made war among men, and finally he gave up 
everything else that he might devote himself to making happier 
lives for the poor serfs who labored on his estates. He tried to 
get back to the pure Christianity that Jesus taught, to lead a 
life of simplicity and work, of love and brotherhood. And so he 
lived among his peasants, sharing the hardest manual labor and 
dressing just as they did, a smock in summer, a sheepskin coat 

The most remarkable dame in all history who was born gray- 
headed and yet never grows old, who perennially keeps her charm, 
who is ever, forever, calling out the spirit of childhood in the human 
heart, to go gamboling with her over the green, turning somersaults, 
kicking up its heels, and yet learning, too, at her knee from her 
quaint store of sage and precious nonsense, is that beloved old 
creature, Old Mother Goose. Who she was, and how she was, and 
why she was, who knows? Her personality remains enshrouded in 
the most delightful mystery. But for myself I believe she has dwelt 
forever in the human heart.. Her rhymes and jingles are nothing 
more nor less than the spontaneous bubblings of the eternal spirit 
of childhood, that delicious, joyous, nonsensical wisdom which is 
foolishness only to men. 
The rhymes and jingles of Old Mother Goose are a gradual 
growth like the old folk tales, composed at no one time by no one 
individual, but springing up all down through the ages, who knows 
how?naturally, spontaneously, joyously, like the droll tittle Jack- 
in-the-Pulpits and Dutchmen's-Breeches of the woodland. They 
need no other claim to a reason for being than the pure joy of 
expressing that bubbling spirit (albeit sometimes by means of well 
nigh meaningless words) and the everlasting delight of man in 
rhyme and rhythm and musical arrangement of sounds. What 

dinned into his ears, shrewdly conceived the idea of turning the 
discomfort thus caused him to some good account by collecting 
the songs and publishing them. This he did under the title, 
Songs for the Nursery or Mother oose's Melodies, and he sold the 
same from the Pudding Lane shop for the price of two coppers 
apiece. The story further goes on to relate how a goose with a 
very long neck and a wide open mouth flew across the title page 
of the book; and Munroe and Frances solemnly announced that 
they had merely reprinted these wonderful original verses. 
This interesting, picturesque, and delightful tale may or may 
not be true. Certainly the grave of Old Mother Goose remains 
to this very day carefully marked in one ot Boston's old church- 
yards, where it is visited by many devoted pilgrims each year, 
but unfortunately, no scrap of the original book has ever been 
found to corroborate the claim of Messrs. Munroe and Frances. 
Moreover, whether the tale be true or not, it still in no way explains 
the origin of the name Mother Goose. For in the very childhood 
of Thomas Fleet, more than twenty years before his supposed 
publication of Mother Goose's Melodies, there appeared in France 
a little prose collection of the best known fairy tales, Cinderella, 
Little Red Riding Hood, Toads and Diamonds, Bluebeard, Sleep- 
ing Beauty, etc. These were written by a most distinguished French 
writer, Charles Perrault, were published in Paris in the year 1697, 
and were called Contes de ma Mere, l'Oye, or, Tales of My Mother, 
the Goose. On the frontispiece of his book is an old woman spinning 
and telling tales to a man, a girl, a boy and a cat. It is not even 
known whether Perrault originated the name Mother Goose, for 
it is said, that long before his time even, the goose had been given 
the reputation of story telling. Instead of saying of stories the 
origin of which they did not care to disclose, "A little bird told me !" 
people used to say, "Oh, a goose told me!" And so, after all, 
perhaps even the name Mother Goose belongs to the people and 
not to any one individual. 

When that strong-handed monarch set out with a mere handful 
of men to conquer France, the faction opposed to him in his own 
country, used to sing the rhyme to ridicule him and show the 
folly and impossibility of his undertaking, representing the King 
as an old woman engaged in a pursuit the most absurd and extrav- 
agant possible. But when King Henry routed the whole French 
army at .Agincourt, taking their king and the flower of their 
nobility prisonem, and made himself master of France in spite of 
his mere handful of men, the very people who had ridiculed him 
began to change their minds and think no task too difficult for him. 
They therefore cancelled the former sonnet and sang this one: 
So ast is the powess of Hay the Geat, 
He'll pluck a hai from the pale faced moon; 
O a lion familiarly take by the tooth, 
And lead him about as you lead a baboon. 
All pinces and potentates unde the sun, 
Through fea into coners and holes away un; 
While no danger no deatt his swift pogess eta'ds, 
Fo he deals with kingdoms as we do ou cards! 
The Queen whom Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, made the famous 
expedition to London to see, appears to have been Queen Elizabeth, 
though why Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat reported nothing more inter- 
esting at court than frightening a little mouse under a chair, when 
she might have held forth on the subject of Queen Elizabeth in 
all the glory of her satins and jewels, and stomachers, and puffs, 
and ruffs, and coifs, remains a secret known only to Pussy. 
Simple Simon comes also from a chap-book of the Elizabethan 
era. These chap-books were small volumes carded about from 
place to place for sale by itinerant merchants or chap-men. It 
was from such books that a great number of the old rhymes came. 
Sing a Song of Sixpence was well known in Shakespeare's time. 
The unfortunate Hector Protector who was dressed all in 
green and met with such disfavor at the hands of the King as well 
as the Queen, was that doughty old Puritan, Oliver Cromwell, 
Lord High Protector of England, familiarly called Old Noll, who 

The selections in 
have been chosen 
their melody, their 
nonsense, and quaint 
flash of quickly mov- 
vulgarities, crudities, 
have all been swept 
into a dark closet 
So, from the[l\'\,x 
HOUSE, behold Old 
ring her very best 

ousted Charles I from his throne and could scarcely be expected, 
henceforth, to be any too graciously dealt with by kings and 
From all this account which might be lengthened still further, 
it appears that Old Mother Goose is no mere modem upstart, but 
belongs to the pedigreed aristocracy of literature and must be 
treated with becoming consideration and respect. Nevertheless, 
it cannot be denied that, beside all the precious pearls of pure 
and joyous nonsense which Mother Goose has given us, she has 
perpetrated certain unworthy pranks in the form of coarse and 
vulgar rhymes, for which she needs to be given some broth without 
any bread, whipped very soundly and sent off to bed. In other 
words, from the very nature of the old jest books from which 
much of Mother Goose was taken, too many collections contain 
objectionable rhymes, and the need for a far more careful selection 
than is ordinarily made for children's reading begins with these 
first rhymes, which are to be given to the very littlest tots and 
cannot for that very reason be too carefully culled. 
for their music, 
rhythm, their joyous 
humor, their vivid 
ing pictures. The 
and twisted ethics 
uncompro mi si ngl y 
and left there. 
pages of My BOOK 
Mother Goose put- 
foot forward, invit- 
ing you all with a curtsy, whatever the birth records may say 
about your age, to get your pipes and come skipping in her train, 
out where the meadows are always green, where lambs and children 
are always young, and the sun is ever shining. 

I ,"' ... .o  -" '! 

S E 

From the very dawn of human history, men and women have 
loved to gather together in hut or castle, around the blazing 
camp-fire of the savage, or the homey hearth of civilization, and 
tell stories. Thus have arisen among all nations and peoples col- 
lections of tales peculiar to each particular folk, breathing the 
very spirit of their individuality and handed down orally from 
parents to children through generation after generation. These 
are the folk tales, which, at their best, in their vigor and simpli- 
city, their vividness and beauty of imagery, the unaffected depth 
of their pathos and the irresistible drollery of their humor, form 
the largest and best part of children's reading, the characteristics 
that found their expression in the childhood of the human race, 
maintaining an eternal appeal to childhood all down through the 
ages. Our best known stories, Cinderella, Jack and the Bean- 
stalk, Sleeping Beauty and many others are folk tales. 
Although there had long ago been scattered collections of these 
tales, such as the wonderful Arabian Nights, from the Arabian 
and Persian and other oriental sources, first brought to the notice 
of Europe in the eighteenth century, and the collection of Charles 
Perrault made from the French in 1697, it was during the nine- 
teenth century that men began to be especially interested in col- 

leering these stories, taking them down carefully from the mouths 
of natives, and from them studying the customs and habits o[ 
thought, even the history of the various peoples. Most notable 
among these collections are those made by the Grimm Brothers 
in Germany, and Asbj6rnsen and Moe from the Norse. We 
have collections of folk tales, however, not only from the Ger- 
man and Norse, the French and English, but likewise from the 
Gaelic, Welsh, Spanish, Scotch, Finnish, Italian, even from the 
Zulus and other African tribes, American Indians and Austra- 
lian Bushmen. In fact we have collections from nearly every 
nation under the sun and most of the savage tribes besides. 
From a careful study of these collections certain very inter- 
eting facts appear. In the first place, in every Aryan country, 
that is every country inhabited by the white race, even those 
separated by the widest stretches of land and sea, the incidents, 
plots and characters of the tales are the very same, a few incidents 
common to all being put together in an endless variety of different 
combinations. How has it possibly come about that peoples o 
far apart, o long separated by space, so widely different in lan- 
guage and customs, as the Germans and the Hindoos for example, 
possess the same household tales? Everywhere among the Aryans 
we find legends of the ill-treated but ultimately successful younger 
daughter, of which Cinderella is a type. Almost every nation 
has some version of the Cinderella story. Cinderella herself is 
French, coming to us from the collection of Perrault. The real 
English version is the story of Catskin. In German Cinderella is 
Aschen-puttel; in Italian she is Cenerentola. Likewise she appears 
in Norwegian, Russian, Hungarian, Servian, Irish and among the 
tales of any number of other folk beside. 
As wide spread as the story of the victorious younger daughter, 
is the story of the victorious younger son. He is always despised 
by his elder brothers, and yet succeeds at various difficult tasks 
where the elders fail. Such stories are Boots and His Brothers, 

from a cannibal step-mother. They throw first a comb behind 
them, as the mother is almost upon them, and that becomes a 
forest; other small objects become rivers and mountains. The 
same kind of feats are performed during flight in a story from 
Madagascar, and one from the Zulus. A Hottentot story tells of 
a woman's flight from an elephant. In Japan, the hero, followed 
by the Loathly Lady of Hades, throws down his comb and it 
turns into bamboo sprouts which check her approach. 
The most probable explanation of the similarity in various folk 
tales that could not possibly be explained by transmission or a 
common origin, seems to be that this is due to the similarity of 
primitive man's imagination and intellect everywhere, no matter 
how separated by material barriers. Savages the world over, 
past and present, although utterly cut off from all association with 
each other, have invariably shared certain views of life. For one 
thing they draw no hard and fast line between themselves and 
the animal or inanimate world about them. To the simple mind 
of the savage, all things appear to live, to be capable of conscious 
movement and even of speech. The sun, the moon, the stars, 
the very ground on which he walks, the clouds, storms and light- 
ning are all to him living, conscious beings. Animals have 
miraculous power and are supposed to be able to protect him as 
illustrated by the totems of the Alaskan Indians. Moreover, 
the savage believes infallibly in magic. Everywhere we find 
Australians, Maoris, Eskimos, old Irish, Fuegians, Brazilians, 
Samoyeds, Iroquois and the rest showing faith in certain jugglers 
or wizards of their tribes. They believe that these men can turn 
themselves or their neighbors into animal shapes, that they can 
move inanimate objects by incantations and perform all the 
other rigamarole of magic. 
It is most likely therefore that the remarkable similarities 
in the various folk tales are chiefly due to the identity of early 
fancy everywhere. They originated undoubtedly while the races 

were still uncivilized, and the unprogressive 
in each race preserved the old tale, while it 
is probable that those who forged ahead in- 
tellectually and acquired culture began to 
polish and perfect these old tales until they 
grew gradually into the myths that became 
the religions of the peoples. 
Some of these old folk-tales, as has been 
contended, doubtless were told to explain 
natural phenomena, why the sun rose and 
set, how the thunder-storm came, what produced the lightning, 
but they were not by any manner of means all designed to do 
this, as some students of folk-lore have insisted, explaining Little 
Red Riding Hood and nearly every other nursery tale as a 
sun myth. Those that were an attempt at such explanation 
usually frankly declare themselves to be so. For instance the 
myth of the man who caught the sun and anchored it to the 
earth is a savage attempt to explain why the sun pursues a regular 
course through the sky, instead of going hither and yon at will, 
and is found not only in the Hawaiian, but among American 
Indians and New Zealanders as well. 
The folk tales were rather as a whole a natural expression of 
primitive man's imagination and intellect, his views of life, his 
aims and interests, without particular purpose or meaning. 
Gradually as his life became better ordered and richer in ex- 
perience, his intellect keener and clearer, his spirit more refined, 
certain simple moral conceptions began to creep into his tales. 
Thus men the world over in lands far, far apart began to express 
a natural love of good temper and courtesy by tales of the good 
boy or girl who succeeded in enterprises where the bad boy or 
girl, as a punishment for churlishness or disobedience, had failed. 
Such stories are The Twelve Months, from the Bohemian, Toads 
and Diamonds, from the French. Admiration for steadfastness 

and devotion began to express itself in stories of the maiden who 
keeps on through great hardships to free her lover from evil 
enchantment, as in East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon and the 
Russian counterpart of the same. 
More and more, simple moral and ethical ideals, shared by all 
mankind, with no necessity for intercommunion to impart the 
same, the natural expression of man's growth everywhere, his 
higher longings and inner urgings began to form their own stories 
with a certain similarity among all peoples, and no one thing 
gives a better conception of the universal oneness of human 
nature, the similarity of its line of unfoldment everywhere than 
a glance over its old folk tales. 
From the foregoing explanation of the origin of folk tales it 
becomes apparent why, with so many gems of beauty as various 
collections possess, there still exist side by side with these, hideous 
barbarities, crudities and cruelties, survivals from the savage 
days of the story's origin, step-mothers designing to eat their 
children, tempting them into chests and letting the lid down to 
crush in their heads, women cooking their step-children's hearts 
to eat them, mothers and fathers deserting their own children 
to die in the woods; and it also makes clear why no scientific 
edition of folk tales, that is, a collection made for purely scientific 
study, is fit for children. For their use the most careful selection 
and editing of the old stories is necessary that the truly fine 
and beautiful may be preserved and the false and gross eliminated. 
As the folk tales were told by all manner of people throughout 
generations, the story had always to be put in the words of the 
one who told it. Thus while he stuck closely to the outline and 
spirit of the story as it existed everywhere, he might vary it 
slightly to suit his own conception of what was finest and most 
beautiful in it, or omit that which to him was valueless or dis- 
figuring. It is thus that all good versions of the folk tales have 
been told and it is thus that they are given in My BOOK HOUSE. 

MYTH is a popular story intended to explain some 
Inatural phenomenon or some phase or problem of life. 
IIn general, a myth deals with the actions of gods, or 
[beings possessed of divine attributes. It seems most 
'probable that the myths were the outgrowth of the 
household tales and that, while the tales were preserved by the 
rude and uncultured among the races, the more advanced and 
intellectual of each folk refined these tales into the myths which 
gradually became the religions of the peoples. 
While many of the myths are merely poetical and impossible, 
though beautiful, explanations of natural phenomena, as How 
the Sunflower Came, Why Winter and Spring Come Every Year, 
etc., mythology as a whole means far more than that in the evolu- 
tion of human thought. As men in the very beginnings of ordered 
thinking, began to seek for causes beneath the outward appear- 
ance of things, to question and ponder instead of blindly accepting 
the universe, they could not escape striving to understand the 
power that creates, sustains and regulates the world, from which 
emanates the thought and life that pervades and animates all the 
universe; and, being unable to conceive of that power, so diversified 
in the infinite variety of its manifestations and operations, as one 
power, one God, they conceived of it as many gods; they per- 
ceived its various attributes and qualities as these appeared in 
human experience, and personified each of these as a god or goddess. 
Thus, when they perceived wisdom, trutl% beauty, etc., to be 
vital and powerful elements of human life that must have a source 
somewhere, instead of conceiving of one God who is all wisdom, 
beauty, truth, bountiflalness, productivity, strength, life, light and 
love, they conceived of a god or goddess who gave wisdom, a god 
or goddess who gave life, a god or goddess of beauty, a god or 
goddess of truth, bounty, productivity, strength, etc. Instead of 
one God whose power embraces the universe, there was a god of 

the earth, a god of the sea, etc., and humanity's innate perception 
of its own necessity for seeking divine help, help outside its own 
inadequate capacities, in time of trouble, expressed itself in seek- 
ing protection from the various gods, each of which was endowed 
with that protective power which belongs truly to God. 
Thus early man's system of gods was only human thought in 
a state of evolution crudely and imperfectly recognizing the various 
attributes of the one God, naming and classifying the various 
unseen elements that go to make up life, commencing definitely, 
if slowly, to distinguish between good and evil. And back of their 
manifold gods, the myth-makers nearly all dimly perceived the 
idea of one power in an Odin or Jove who was All-father and 
supreme. It is said that the early Egyptian priests, though their 
religion always possessed far more points of dissimilarity than of 
similarity to the Hebrew, still possessed very distinctly this secret 
of one God, one Cause and Creator of the universe, and Mr. Pres- 
cott tells us in his Conquest of Mexico, that even the Aztecs, evolv- 
ing their religion so utterly ap art from the rest of the world, recogo 
nized, in spite of their barbarous myths of many gods, the existence 
of a supreme creator and Lord of the Universe. "They addressed 
him in their prayers as 'the God by whom we live,' 'omnipresent, 
that knoweth all thoughts, and giveth all gifts,' 'without whom man 
is as nothing,"invisible, incorporeal, one God, of perfect perfection 
and purity,' 'under whose wings we find repose and sure defence.' 
These sublime attributes infer no inadequate conception of the 
true God." He tells us furthermore, in The Conquest of Peru, 
"It is a remarkable fact, that many, if not most, of the rude 
tribes inhabiting the vast American continent, however disfigured 
their creeds may have been in other respects by a childish super- 
stition, had attained to the sublime conception of one Great 
Spirit, the Creator of the Universe, who, immaterial in his own 
nature, was not to be dishonored by an attempt at visible repre- 
sentation, and who, pervading all space, was not to be circum- 
scribed within the walls of a temple." 

However much men still confused good and evil, sensual and 
spiritual qualities, in defining the nature of their gods, early 
mythology represents at least a pressing forward of primitive 
human thought toward explanations of the universe, toward some 
comprehensive grasp of the unseen force behind creation, and 
ome attempt to sort out good from evil; and however great the 
jumble of superstitions with which the truth was still overlaid, 
each nation pressed just so far along this line of discovery as its 
particular thought was capable of reaching, untouched by the 
supreme truth which came with Christianity. 
Early myth-makers personified not only the qualities and 
elements which they perceived to be good in human existence, 
but also those elements which they perceived to be evil, sometimes 
as gods, as in the case of the Norse Loki, god of mischief and evil, 
father of sorrow and death, but more often as hideous monsters, 
giants or trolls. In the Norse, these personifications of evil were 
often creatures of mist and darkness, of lies and illusion, which 
must disappear before the light, certainly, not an unintelligent 
conception of evil, and the Norse not only set forth in their myths 
the material warfare of warmth and light against cold and dark- 
hess, but they set forth also the warfare of good against evil. In 
the Persian, the Children of Light war against the spells and 
illusions of the Children of Darkness, the Deers, and again, the 
material sense of light wiping out darkness, has the deeper meaning 
of spiritual truth and enlightenment wiping out evil. 
In many of their myths the Norsemen reached a very lofty 
and beautiful conception of things. In the god Baldur, they 
honored all that was beautiful, eloquent, wise and good. He was 
the spirit of activity, joy and light. Even Thor, though he was 
degraded into a war god, seems at his best, in his encounters with 
the giants from the land of mists and winter, the land of lies affd 
illusions, rather to have stood for that strong spiritual force that 
gives battle to evil, than a creator of strife among men, and his 

thunderbolt for no destructive force, but for that beneficent power 
that smites the chains of winter and sets free the life-giving showers 
of spring. The Norse attain a high spiritual level, too, in their 
conception of the final disappearance of this world, with the twi- 
light of the gods, and the appearance of a new heaven and a new 
earth, an earth wherein goodness only dwells, an earth filled with 
abundance, regenerated and purified, where Baldur will come again 
with light and life, with wisdom, joy and goodness, and all evil 
ceases, for Loki is no more. 
Though all nations have had their myths, and many, the 
East Indians for example, have an enormous jumble, the Greek 
and Norse mythologies are the most complete and orderly. The 
Greek myths show a love of beauty and brightness, of warmth 
and color, that makes the Norse look somewhat dark and somber 
by contrast, yet the Greeks retained far more of the sensuous 
element and attained far less of the spiritual than the Norse, and 
in selecting stories from the Greek to tell to children, this fact 
needs always to be borne in mind when selections are made. 
There are, nevertheless, many very beautiful Greek myths. There 
are the story of Hercules, his patience and his labors to free man- 
kind from the various monsters, the myth of Echo and Narcissus, 
wherein the youth who loves only himself finds nothing but 
misery, unsatisfied longing and final death, the beautiful story of 
that dear old couple, Baucis and Philemon. All these and 
many others show true and fight conceptions of things, and 
indicate that mythology, though it always remained a confused 
mixture of barbarism and beauty, with far more superstition than 
truth, and though it could never possibly have attained anything 
like the moral and spiritual height which a wholly consecrated, 
inspired, and persistent demand for truth did attain on the hills 
of Judea, holds nevertheless, when viewed in the right light, much 
beauty and much truth, which may be intelligently used for 

An epic is an heroic narrative, sometimes in prose, but most 
ften in etry, treating in heroic style a theme of heroic pro- 
lrtions. Its unity" generally consists in the fact that all the 
incidents are grouped about one central hero. As the folk tales 
reflect the commonplace, homely, every-day life of the various 
nations and peoples, so their highest, loftiest, noblest, most 
stirring and deeply moving thoughts have been expressed in their 
long epic ems. These were told and sung by" wandering bae'ds 
in hall and castle from generation to generation, until at last 
some et appeared, of sufficient genius to write down the tale 
and give it permanent form in the peculiar style and rhythm of 
his own country. In these massive old epics, with their splendid 
seriousness and dignity, their enormous breadth of canvas, their 
rousing stir of activity', and the frequent rise of their lines int 
passages of great and lofty beauty, we find the finest literature of 
each country, and in retelling stories from the epics, somewhat, 
at least, of this heroic style should always be preserved. Too 
frequently turning the mere story of the epics into prose has 
robbed the tale of all that enormous and splendid spirit that gave 
it its real life and beauty. 
HE greatest of all the world's epics--The Iliad and 
' [Odyssey--are attributed to Homer, who is said to 
I  aw liwd and S. C. 
 I the second century B. C., however, the question 
   whether Homer was the originator of these poems, 
*The Adventures of Odysseus by Padraic Colum. The Iliad for Boys and Girls by A. J. Church. 
The Odyssey for Boys and Girls by A. J. Church. 

or whether he merely recited verses already in existence, has 
been hotly disputed and it is probable that the Iliad was inspired 
by, or at least based upon previous poems. For centuries the 
Iliad and the Odyssey were publicly recited at gatherings of. 
the Greek people, beneath the classic shadows of the Acropolis 
at Athens, in the stately marble porticoes of Greek dwellings, 
on the dappled lawns of temple groves overlooking the blue 
Aegean, and their splendid flowing lines, with their dignity 
and simplicity, have come down through the ages as the finest 
embodiment of Greek thought and spirit in existence, well 
worthy the race whose chief ift to humanity was the revelatioa 
of the gospel of beauty. The Iliad or Achilliad relates the happen- 
ings of some fifty days in the ninth year of the Trojan War, and the 
story all center about the hero, Achilles. The Odyssey is the story 
of Ulysses, or Odysseus as he is called in the Greek, after the fall of 
Troy and tells the story of his long ten years of wandering and his 
_final arrival home. 
The greatest Latin epic is the Aeneid, written by Virgil in the 
first century A. D. It sings the wanderings of Aeneas, the 
Trojan, the heroic ancestor of the Romans, after he has escaped 
from the burning ruins of Troy. Since Roman literature was 
founded entirely on the Greek, the Aeneid is very closely akin in 
style and spirit to the Iliad and Odyssey. 

Next in antiquity to the Greek epics is the 
Persian, the Shah-Nameh, or Book of Kings, 
which was composed by the poet Abul Kasin 
Mansur about 920 B.C. Abul Kasin sang 
so sweetly that his master, the Shah, 
termed him Firdusi, or Singer of Paradise, 

*The Aeneid for Boys and Girls by A. J. Church. 
t The Story of Rustem by Renninger. 

M Y 


sacred epics, the Maha-bharata, and the Ramayana. 
The Ramayana was composed in Sanscrit some 
five hundred years before Christ, and is a strange 
mixture of the wildest and most preposterous 
legends with the truest and deepest philosophy. 

It relates events which are said to have occurred between two 
thousand and nine hundred B.C. The poem is generally attrib- 
uted to Valmiki, a hermit who dwelt on the bank of the Ganges. 
One day it chanced that Valmiki saw one bird of a happy pair 
slain, and he made use of so strange and expressive a meter in 
singing the pity stirred in his heart at the sight, that the god 
Brahma, the one supreme God of the Hindus, immediately bade 
him employ the same meter in narrating the adventures of Rama. 
Now Rama is supposed to be one of the seven appearances in the 
flesh of the god Vishnu, the personification of the preserving 
principle among the Hindus, who, to protect the right, and punish 
vice and wickedness, in various epochs of danger appeared on 
earth in bodily form. Vishnu it is who at length will destroy all 
evil and restore mankind to virtue and purity. The foes of 
Rama in the Ramayana are the evil spirits by which Hindu myth- 
ology symbolized evil. 
Like the Shah-Nameh, this poem is very long and involved 
as a whole, but out of it come many passages of the loftiest beauty 
descfiptions of nature that breathe the very heart of the tropical 
jungle, passages of the finest feeling, as for example, the one where 
Sita refuses to leave her husband in his exile. Its conception of the 
character of young Rama, too,mhis love for his brothers, his 
devotion to his father, his modesty and humility, his control of 
his passions, his unfailing courtesy to his brothers' mothers, 
his devotion to his people, his tenderness for his wife, his stead- 
fastness to his word, is one of remarkable beauty. Reading of 
this poem and frequent re-reading of it is regarded as a sacred 
duty by the Hindu. The Ramayana is his Bible. 

thoughts that have been engrafted into it which make it so won- 
derfully beautiful. Longfellow copied the strange rhythm of 
Kalevala, its alliterative use of words and its delightful repeti- 
tions, very exactly and perfectly in Hiawatha. 
 Norse literature has some very famous epics. The 
best known of these is the Volsunga Saga, the tale of 
Sigurd and Sigrntmd, descendants of Volsung. It 
tells the famous sory how Sigurd slew the dragon, 
Fafnir, and how he broke through the ring of fire 
to rescue Brynhild, the Valkyr, from her long doom of sleep. 
The Volsunga Saga is also the source of the most famous German 
epic, the Nibelungenlied, the story of the accursed golden hoard 
of the Nibelungs or dwarfs, that brought such woe to Siegfried 
(the German Sigurd) and all who claimed it. But a more beauti- 
ful, though less known, Norse epic is the Saga of Frithjo.f, a 
story deafly beloved in Norway. 
 N English our attention is first claimed by the Old 
English Beowulf, which was doubtless composed before 
_  . the Angles and Saxons left Europe and settled in Britain. 
Among the Angles and Saxons the art of poetry was very generally 
cultivated, and the harp was passed around to all at feasts that 
every guest might play and sing. Besides this, there were pro- 
fessional poets called in Old English, "scops 
or gleomen," who either travelled from 
place to place, or held permanent positions 
at the courts of chieftains or kings. These 
rets set out to sing of real events, but 
gradually they magnified the deeds of which \. 
they sang, and as the true event on which 
*Siegfried, the Hero of the North by Ragozin. The Story of Siegfried by James Baldwin. Sigurd 
the Volsung by Morris. Fritkjof, The_Viking of Noway by Ragozin. 
See foot note Page 195. 

most interesting and very distinctive Old English style. The 
entire poem consists of two distinct stories,--the first how Beowulf 
delivered Heorot from Grendel and his mother, and the second, 
how Beowulf, years later, delivered his own land from a dragon. 
When Henry VIII, at Cromwell's suggestion, suppressed the 
monasteries in England, all the rich store of their libraries was 
scattered, much wantonly destroyed and lost. Some of the 
finest pieces of Old English literature were sold as old paper, used 
to scour candlesticks, to rub boots, or to wrap up grocers' bundles. 
It is a matter for which we may be very grateful, that in this 
general destruction, a single tenth century manuscript of Beowulf 
was preserved. This was injured by fire in 1731, so that the 
edges of the parchment are frayed and charred and many words 
and letters have disappeared, but the Beowulf still remains as 
the finest monument of Old English poetry, and a most inter- 
esting revelation of Old English thought and customs. 
Next to be noted in the story of the English epic is the Arthur- 
ian Cycle, a number of epics or romances about King Arthur, 
the Knights of the Round Table and the ladies of his court. 
Arthur probably was a really good and noble Celtic King of 
Britain in the early days of the Saxon invasion, but his original 
character was gradually transformed by story-tellers until by the 
end of the twelfth century he had become merely an ideal king 
by means of whom chivalry could express its highest aims and 
ideals. There were likewise German, French, Welsh and many 
other versions of the Arthurian tales,--the German version by Wol- 
fram von Eschenbach, the French by Chrtien de Troyes. The 
best known English version was by Thomas Mallory and all of 
these were written in prose. Tennyson's Idylls of the King are 
the Arthurian legends still further idealized and put into poetry. 
Milton's Paradise Lost, Chaucer's Tales, and Spenser's Faerie 
Queene, are, of course, epics also, but they are the compositions 
of the poets who wrote them, not folk-epics like the others. 

magnifies, just as sculpture can create the gigantic statue of a 
man. The large manner of this antique Gaelic literature simply 
wipes out all littleness in its presence. Nothing small in the 
heart of man can stand before real sympathy with the enormous 
simplicity of this heroic tale of primitive Irish life. 
Standish O'Grady was the first Irishman to reveal in a noble 
manner the greatness in this long neglected bardic literature of 
Ireland. He himself had the soul of an ancient epic poet, and 
as he carves out for us in sentences now charged with heroic energy, 
now -beautifully quiet and tender, and always magnificently 
simple, the enormous figures of the Red Branch, we feel through 
and through that Cuchulain is indeed the true incarnation of 
Gaelic chivalry, its fire and gentleness, its hardy purity of mind, 
its largeness, its modesty and simplicity. Through the pages of 
O'Grady the ruddy chivalry of Ireland passes huge and fleet and 
bright, enormous images that loom as great as any among the 
epic heroes of the world. 
The national epic in France bears the 
characteristic name, Chanson de Geste, 
or Song o.f Deeds, because the trouveres, 
the wandering singers in the north, and the 
troubadours in the south, wandered from 
castle to castle singing the deeds of their 
lords. The greatest group or cycle of these 
chansons, of which there were three, dealt 
with Charlemagne, the great champion of 
Christianity, and his twelve faithful paladins or peers. When it 
was composed is uncertain, but the oldest copy now extant dates 
back to the twelfth century. The song, nevertheless, is much 
older than this. Like so many of the epics it was based on his- 
todcal fact, later magnified and altered. The entire poem is 
*The Story of Roland by James Baldwin. Frithjof and Roland by Ragozin. 

the child read all of them he will; they are good for him. tt it 
has been in the field of fiction that mothers and fathers have 
thought, "Oh, it doesn't matter much what Robert reads--it' 
only a story anyway!" 
My friends, there are stories and stories and nothing matters 
much more than which story Robert reads. Robert may know all 
the scientific facts in the universe, may know the Encyclopedia 
Britannica backwards and forwards, and still never have per- 
ceived that selfishness, dishonesty, cunning, cruelty, weakness, 
narrowness of vision, are evil qualities which he does not wish to 
possess, and that courage and faith, strength and perseverance, 
honesty, loyalty, breadth of vision, are qualities which are splendid 
and admirable, which he does wish to possess. 
In the settling of those great problems which have been stirred 
to the surface in the restless world of today and are facing the rising 
generation, problems needing greater wisdom and breadth of view 
for their solution than have ever faced the world before, is it going 
to be of more importance to Robert to know that the Battle of 
Hastings was fought in the year 1066 or to have innately and uncon- 
sciously acquired a love of justice and truth, an admiration for the 
big and unselfish view-point? 
I am not belittling scientific reading; it is absolutely necessary 
and many a finely written history or biography may and often 
does accomplish the same thing as fiction, but I am bringing out as 
clearly as possible, that the value of the best fiction has been much 
under-rated and that because it has been under-rated, the best and 
most intelligent use has not been made of it in the child's develop- 
ment. The best fiction certainly will mould your child's ideals and 
standards, his views of life, his judgments on life, as surely as it 
widens his mental horizon, shows him other points of view than his 
own, quickens his imagination and his joyous appreciation of 
beauty, livens his sense of humor, deepens his emotions, and at 
every turn fires his spirit into life. 

that open the hearts of men outward, away from self to the needs 
of the world. And so we need both the encyclopedia and the story. 
UST as the best fiction for us grownupsI am 
not speaking of course, of the mountain of trash 
that calls itself fiction in these days, but of such 
books as Two on a Tower and many another of 
its kind just as that fiction gives us a truer 
knowledge of human nature, a clearer under- 
standing of human motives, a broader, juster, 
more accurate and compassionate judgment of men and events, 
o does fiction do the same thing for the smallest child. 
Beginning with his earliest fairy tales, the child commences to 
ee in his stories, quite without any drawing of morals or particular 
direction of his attention to the fact, what qualities are splendid 
and noble, what qualities are base and ignoble, and for the very 
reason that the tale does entertain him, does interest him so in- 
tensely and move him to the very depths of his being, the impres- 
sion left by the story is far more lasting and permanent than any 
sermon that could be preached on the subject, and constitutes 
itself an influence upon him greater than any other one thing which 
comes into his life, except the ideas and ideals that surround him 
in his own home, which, it must never be forgotten, leave the most 
telling marks upon his character. Hence the immense importance 
of always soliciting his admiration and sympathy for those qualities 
which are truly fine and never confusing his standards by holding 
up for his approval, trickery, dishonesty, cunning, deceit, and the 
rest of the train of evil. 
It has been said that fairy tales give many children their first 
clear perception of the distinction between fight and wrong, good 
and evil, and at their best this is certainly true. No child can sym- 
pathize deeply with the patience and gentleness and sweetness of 
Cinderella and hate the selfishness and vanity of the stepsisters, 

without all unconsciously registering a definite and lasting impres- 
sion which forms a permanent part of his ideals. 
Please understand, I am not arguing at all for the moral or 
moralizing talefar, far from it, nor for definitely using stories to 
point morals, and so often destroying their art and the very quali- 
ties by which they charm the fancy and grip the heart. I am only 
saying that, by their very substance and content and spirit, the 
best stories do all unconsciously accomplish these results. The 
preachy, moralizing tale usually defeats its own purpose. 
NCE, as a child, I got from an old-fashioned Sunday 
School library a book called Willie Trying to Be Good 
I don't know what there was in the title that allured 
me, but anyway I chose it. Willie was a most self- 
righteous, unnatural, goody-goody little prig, and I 
had read no more than two chapters concerning Willie, when I 
wanted to creep up behind him and pinch him just to see if I could 
startle him out of his owlish primness by means of a perfectly 
natural "Ouch!" What was most remarkable about Willie was that 
he kept a great book and whenever anyone did anything kind for 
him he straightway ran and wrote down all about it in his book. 
Here he had neatly and accurately tabulated Mother, Father, Aunt 
Betsy and all the rest of the family, and then if Aunt Betsy did 
something which tempted him to be angry, instead of wickedly ex- 
pressing his anger, he nobly restrained himself, went and looked in 
his great book under the index "B," found the name of Aunt Betsy 
and read all the good things Aunt Betsy had done for him, where- 
upon his anger departed and he betook himself to Aunt Betsy to 
deliver unto her a long and sanctimonious oration relating how he 
had been tempted and had overcome the temptation! 
As I remember, on finishing the book I threw it across the room 
in such forceful disgust as to make a great deal of repairing neces- 
sary before it went back to the library, and the next time I was out 

such a distorted view? It certainly does not. And such stories, 
though of very great age and literary standing, should be allowed 
by intelligent mothers to die a natural death out of childhood 
literature. It is not that the influence of such a book is direct; it 
is not that if your child reads it he may go out tomorrow and 
commit some dishonest act; the influence is far more subtle and 
indirect. It is thisas he reads a succession of such stories, grad- 
ually the sharp, clear-cut edge is rubbed off his ideals and he begins 
to think that honesty is not such an important matter as he had 
imagined after all. Certainly the great evil of the world today is 
not that men are going about murdering each other wholesale. 
They are doing nothing so delightfully open in their dabblings 
with evil. They are merely refusing to face squarely the ab- 
solutely necessary separation which must be made between those 
qualities which are actually, absolutely, finally good, and those 
qualifies which are actually, absolutely, finally evil, and so they are 
continuing in their smug self-satisfaction, their mental and spiritual 
laziness, to express in their various relationships and lines of activ- 
ity, all the subtle dishonesty, selfishness, littleness, bigotry, super- 
stition, conventionality, narrowness, envy, hatred and greed of a 
flourishing and unchallenged but well viled and covered evil, that 
all too frequently wears the cloak of righteousness and respecta- 
bility. In other words, the great need of the world today is for 
higher, more accurate and clearly defined ideals, and a far more 
consecrated determination to make a beginning at least, of putting 
these ideals into operation in all the varied activities of human 
life, from the least to the greatest. And I cannot too forcefully 
insist on the fact that we are utterly blind and unthinking if we 
continue to grind into our children's thoughts the twisted ethics 
of all too many among the stories that are offered him. 
Matthew Arnold once splendidly defined true culture as the 
study of perfection, and he further defined perfection as an "inward 
condition of the mind and spirit" that results from "subduing the 

obvious faults of our animality" and bringing to light "the true 
ideal of beauty, of sweetness and light, and a human nature com- 
plete on all its sides." This, then, is the real aim of all true, 
honest, genuine culture, the bringing to light of a higher ideal of 
perfection, of a human nature complete, well rounded and bal- 
anced on all its sides. This means that intellectual culture must be 
everlastingly linked to moral and spiritual culture, that outward 
beauty of form must always be coupled with inward beauty of spirit. 
To attain such a culture should be the real object of all reading. 
So let the heroes and heroines of the tales which you choose for 
your child solicit his deep sympathy and interest for the nobler 
qualities, for patience and perseverance, loyalty and truth, cour- 
age and compassion, and he will live those qualities with his heroes. 
AIRY tales, welling up from the simple, nat- 
ural, untrained hearts of the common people, 
have been called the wild-garden of literature 
and they could not be more beautifhlly des- 
cfibed. They are "the wild-rose in the hedge- 
rows, the lily of the valley, the wind-flower, 
the meadowsweet, in contrast to the cultivated 
rose or gorgeous poppy that grows in the ordered gardens, beside 
the classic fountains of Literature's stately palaces." 
But let us remember that in wild gardens there are weeds as 
well as beautiful blossoms, and so for our children, we need to weed 
out the weird and sensational, the unwholesome, the savage and 
morbid, and leave the pure and beautiful fancies, the vigorous, 
flourishing strength, the splendid, unself-conscious simplicity. 
There are many, many bad fairy tales and no one phase of your 
child's reading needs more careful supervision than his fairy tales. 
The sad fact is, too, that few editors have given you wholly saris- 
factory books on this subject, their judgment having been too fre- 
quently led astray by the literary beauty of certain undesirable tales. 

I should never give a young child a whole volume of Grimm, 
Dasent, Asbj6rnsen, Jacobs or any other literary collection of folk 
tales. They contain many horrible stories. If the child is to have 
these books whole at any time, let it be when he is older, say in 
the fourth or fifth grades, can read them without fear and has some 
ability within himself to throw off the evil that is there. Remem- 
ber, a very young child refuses nothinghe soaks up every idea 
and impressionit is only as we grow older and our standards 
of life begin to assume some definite shape within us, that we 
sort out impressions that come to us, take the good and reject 
the bad. Choose rather a book of fairy tales carefully edited 
by someone who has truly understood young children and their 
needs. Let your fairy tales be as fanciful as you like--the child 
needs his flights of fancy; nothing great in the world was ever 
accomplished without imagination, and let these be the old folk 
tales, but let them be also wholesome, sound and true. All too 
frequently modern fairy tales, while they may lack some of the more 
objectionable features of the old stories, are sentimental and wishy- 
washy, and lack also all the splendid and convincing sincerity, 
vitality and strength of the folk tales. These old tales, properly 
weeded, still remain the real solid foundation for a child's reading. 
 OW let us turn from fairy tales to realistic fiction, 
stories of events that might really have happened in 
actual life. We have seen that the most imaginative 
and fanciful fairy tale may be true, not true to material 
fact, but true to fight ideas and ideals, and now when 
we come to realistic stories let us demand further that these 
stories be actually true to human experience. Let us ask that 
their characters be not abnormally good or bad, that the happen- 
ings be not exaggerated, but that they deal with real live boys 
and girls. I do not mean boys and girls glorying in mischief and 
many of the tricks thought necessary to make a child's book 

interesting; I mean worth while children, but not impossible ones. 
And here you have whole hosts of books to avoid. I am sure I 
do not need to caution you against the sensational, racy, hair-rais- 
ing ones, but I do want to advise you against the sentimental, 
wishy-washy ones, which are so often called "safe" because the 
evil in them is less apparent. These books give children no ade- 
quate view of human experience and its problems as they are really 
going to find them, but substitute weakness for strength, and de- 
lude them into the belief that life's victories may be cheaply and 
easily won, thus giving them no preparation whatever for the real, 
steady, persistent effort that success in any line will demand of 
every man. Such books are trash--only littering up children's 
mental store-houses. 
Books in series are almost always of this type. In my child- 
hood Horatio Alger was the chief representative of the series type 
Sink or Swim, Live or Die, Survive or Perish. There was always 
a rich boy who was hideously villainous and a poor boy with a halo 
of righteousness about his head, and the poor boy always suffered 
the most dreadful outrages at the hands of the rich boy, but in the 
end the poor boy always grew marvelously rich and the villainous 
rich boy became marvelously poor, which gave the saintly poor boy 
an opportunity to be most superhumanly magnaminous, forgive 
the rich boy and restore him to his own again. When you've read 
one of those books you've read them all. They make no demand 
whatsoever upon your intelligence. Reading them gets to be a 
habit--one becomes a regular serial drunkard and imbibes at least 
one a day. Don't encourage your child to get that habit. 
OW just one word more. Be sure that a book is 
well written. You may think this matter is not 
particularly important beyond its effect on your 
child s use of the English language, but it is. Often 
the subtlest, most indirect influences are the greatest. The 

very order of a well-written book influences a child, its unity and 
beauty, while a sloppily written story tends to induce disordered 
sloppy thinking. It is the literary perfection of a story which pricks 
a child's soul to new hunger and thirst after beauty and perfection. 
Occasionally, a book of fine contents, poorly written, is worth- 
while, and I admit I would far rather my child would read a badly 
written book the substance of which was good, than a literary class- 
ic the substance of which was evil, yet our aim should always be 
well-written books. Help your child to select such books, do all 
you can to urge him to read them and to avoid the cheap and 
trashy stories. Talk to your boy or girl about the books he reads. 
Get interested in them yourself, keep his confidence on that point 
and you will find you are actually discussing with him the most 
vital problems of life. 
Remember, whenever you see your boy or girl with a book, that 
the quality of that book is at least as important as the food you 
serve him. Would you give him impure food? No! Would you 
give him sloppily prepared food? No! Would you clutter up his 
digestion with all sorts of useless pastries and cakes and candies? 
No! Would you give him wholesome, nourishing, well-cooked, well- 
balanced food? Yes! Then do the same for his mind. The books he 
reads are his mental food. He swallows the ideas that form the 
substance of those books as surely as he swallows meat and potato. 
If his digestion is good he eliminates the evil and absorbs into his 
mental system the good. Those ideas which he absorbs circulate 
through his mind no less certainly than blood through his body, and 
he gives them out again as mental energy in the form of the motives 
that prompt his every act. How important it is then that the ideas 
fed him should be pure and his mental digestion be kept healthy. 
What is a sound body without a sound mind to govern it? 
The late war gave an example of the havoc that can be wrought by 
sound physical bodies without fight ideals and standards to move 


them.. We want no more of that for the welfare of the world. The 
future is going to make great demands on our children. Let us 
do all in our power to have them prepared to meet those demands 
and let us by no means neglect the proper use of so powerful an 
agency for good in their development as the world of books. 
After closing this general discussion on the subject of children's 
reading, in which I have aimed to give you some few principles for 
judgment and selection, I have been asked to say a few words 
about My BOOK HOUSE, the carefully selected collection of 
stories and poems for children on which I have spent the past four 
years, and which I undertook through discovering for my own 
child what a chaos the field of children's literature was, what a 
mixture of good and bad, of gems and trash, and how great and 
universal was the need for such a work. In these books I have 
endeavored to collect the best stories and poems for children from 
the literature of all ages and all peoples and to embody in them 
the principles of selections which I have just been describing to you. 
IRST I have always asked myself, "Has this story 
literary merit?" If it has not, there is no need of 
going further. If it has, I have then asked secondly, 
"Will it interest the child?" If it will not interest him, 
what difference does it make how great its literary 
merit may be? If it has literary merit and will interest him, 
my third question has been, "Will what it adds to his life be for 
his good? Is its underlying idea true, does it present sound stan- 
dards, is its spirit fine, its atmosphere healthful?" Many a good 
story has failed to pass this last test, but so far as my judgment 
and understanding goes, I have always applied it rigidly. 
A story having then passed all three of these tests I have next 
asked myself, "What is the best age at which to present this tale 
to the child, the age at which he will get the most out of it?" And 


so I haw tried to grade the stories as intelligently as possible. 
Remember we can never be too old to appreciate a piece of good 
literature. Many a dear old grandmother writes us apologetically 
that she enjoys the first book, In the Nu'se'y as much as her 
smallest grandchildren, and I always feel like writing back, "Oh 
you dear grandmother, of course you enjoy Mother Goose and all 
those delicious, simple, joyous, nonsensical old tales, for the spirit 
of childhood is eternal in the human heart. 'Except ye become as 
little children ye shall not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.' 
One or one hundred, what is the difference--the Kingdom of Heav- 
en certainly consists in having the heart of a child!" One can 
never be too old for good literature, but one may be too young. 
The proper grading of stories from this standpoint is one of the 
most important questions to be considered in the discussion of 
children's reading. A story that will make a most sound and 
healthful impression on a child of eight may be absolutely un- 
healthful at three or five. Very seldom has a good collection of 
stories been produced for children from the age of two to five--and 
this because few people, except mothers, really understand the 
little tot at this period, and most mothers of children at that age 
have something else to do besides write or edit stories. The child 
then is as different as possible from what he is when he begins to go 
to school or kindergarten. He is a little bundle of laughter, giggles 
and sunshine, and yet he is the most solemn creature on earth. 
His sense of humor is almost nil, or, rather, what is funny to him 
is not what is funny to grown-ups. He takes life tremendously 
seriously. He has as yet no philosophy with which to overcome 
any little sorrow, and he knows almost nothing of the great prob- 
lem of evil with which he will one day be called to cope. 
We have recently had a little nephew visiting us, a thoroughly 
sturdy, boyish little fellow about two and a half years old, not the 
kind one would ever accuse of being abnormally sensitive. As he 


sat on his mother's lap she often read to him: 
"Three little kittens 
They lost their mittens 
 And they began to cry; 
 '0 mammy dear, 
We sadly fear 
;.",., That we have lost our mittens!' 
 'What! lot your mitten, 
You careless kitten, 
Then you shall have no pie,' 
'Mee-aw, rnee-aw, mee-aw!' 
'No, you shall have no pie!' 
'Mee-aw, rnee-aw, rnee-aw!' " 
To watch that child's face as his mothe read was a study. He 
followed the fate of those kittens with a breathless intensity and 
troubled concern worthy at least of Eliza crossing the ice with a 
pack of bloodhounds at her heels, and the relief, the radiant smiles 
that blossomed forth on his little face when those kittens found 
their mittens and got their pie were illuminating, all indicating 
quite clearly that much deeper tragedy than that which befell 
those three little kittens would be quite beyond his present powers 
of endurance. What a child will laugh at most heartily and see the 
humor of at six or seven is deadly earnest to him at three. And 
while we want quick response from children to all the nobler sen- 
fiments, to pity and compassion, as well as to joy and love, we will 
never overplay their emotions. To do this makes them morbid, 
sensitive and nervously excited. That is why at this period we 
need to be so particularly careful. 
Now the understanding of such a state of thought, the sympa- 
thetic grasp of a very little child's viewpoint, seldom comes to any- 
one but a mother, and even with us mothers that understanding 
is the most evanescent thing in the world. As our own children 
grow older, acquire some sense of humor and some philosophy, we 
ourselves forget what these children thought and felt at two. But 
it has been my steady aim never to forget it or belittle it, to take it 
rather into intelligent consideration, and uncompromisingly de- 

mand that stories for the little one at this period be full of joy and 
sunshine and his own beautiful simplicity. 
The child needs as yet to have very little to do with the prob- 
lems of evil. That and its overcoming which lend strength to books 
for older children, can and must be presented to him gradually. 
Moreover, make it a general rule never at this age or any other to 
give a child a book which you think will leave him with a sense 
of fear, with a sense of evil as some great, mysterious awful 
power from which he cannot escape. Such a sense kills all en- 
deavor. Stories should always lead him to feel that he can come 
out on top and have dominion over evil. It is this that spurs him 
on to resist evil. 
HILDREN ordinarily start school, that is kinder- 
garten, when they are about five years old, and 
their thought begins then to be systematically guid- 
ed and directed in fight lines and channels, but what 
about those precious years before the child starts 
school? Should his thought at that time be left unguided and 
undirected? Should he be allowed "just to grow up"? Those first 
formative years are among the most important in the child's life and 
offer the most fertile field possible to the mother for moulding his 
thought by means of good stories and implanting in him, from the 
very beginning, sound and true views of life. During those years 
she is the sole guardian of his reading. Later, even as early as seven 
or eight, he will begin to select his own stories. What more import- 
ant then, than that she should sow all the good seed possible while 
she is able to do so, thus forming the foundation of a sound charac- 
ter and of good judgment in his later selection of books? 
Mothers begin to sing nursery rhymes and lullabies to their 
babies when they are a few days old. They should have at hand 
easily accessible for their use the very best. Why not let the child 
hear nothing else but the best? Does it make any difference that 

at first he does not understand the words? The very rhythm, 
music and melody of the good rhymes and lullabies soothe, quiet 
and train him. Why not let a child's ear for poetry be thus trained 
from the very beginning and so give him something good instead 
of something bad from the cradle? 
HE first volume of My BOOK HOUSE, In the Nursery, 
has been very carefully worked out to meet just this 
need of the youngest child, and is perhaps as remark- 
able for what it excludes as for what it includes. It 
is made up of a most careful selection of nursery 
rhymes, leading on gradually to the very simplest rhythmic stories, 
demanding at each step a little more attention and concentra- 
tion, a little more and a little more, till the child is led on natural- 
ly to listen to the more complicated stories. The child's next need 
after Mother Goose is always for these short rhythmic stories in 
prose, stories of the simplest possible plot, construction and word- 
ing. It is not yet possible to hold his attention on one subject for 
any great length of time, and the charm of rhythm is still a great 
factor in the appeal for his interest. 
In The Nursery has almost no fairy tales. The child is as yet 
so young that the supernatural element confuses him. He is just 
learning the real world about him, and does not know where to 
place fairies and elves. I once met a little boy of three to whom a 
volume of Grimm was being read. He was a delicate, peevish, over- 
wrought little creature and had fairies and angels and Santa Claus 
and God all in a hopeless muddle. So the stories and poems in In 
the Nursery deal with the actual world to which the child is just 
awakening, and are crammed full of the beauty and joy of earth 
and sky, of wind and sun, of bird and bee and flower. 
The second volume, Up One Pair of Stairs, is designed to ex- 
pand the child's thought, give him stories of child life in other 

contains all the explanatory material which has been reserved for 
this book in order that no smallest note of adult or professional 
thought might mar the childlikeness of the other volumes. 
HATEVER material we have used throughout 
.. the collection we have invariably aimed to present 
from the child's standpoint, so he would love the 
 __ books. Accordingly, we have made much of the 
matter of illustrations and cover, by which the 
books first catch his attention and charm him 
through the eye. The influence of art for good 
has long been recognized, and the soul of the child 
filled full of the love for beauty has far less room to admit any ugli- 
ness than the soul of the child to whom hideousness seems natural. 
The same careful consideration given to the editorial prepara- 
tion of My BOOK HOUSE has been adhered to in its art. In the 
illustrations throughout there breathes a joyous childlikeness. The 
colors, while invariably interesting, are never flashy, gaudy or dis- 
quieting, but always harmonious and restful. The artists contrib- 
uting number many of our best known illustrators. They were, 
nevertheless, not selected for their prominence, but because of the 
strength of their individual appeal to the child, and their particular 
suitability to the subjecf in hand. Thus, instead of letting any 
one artist do all the work, we have always selected the one par- 
ticularly suited to the special subject of each story and, as a result, 
My BOOK HOUSE is a remarkable collection of the work of 
America's foremost illustrators for children, at their very best. 
To sum up everything, we have tried, as intelligently and lov- 
ingly as possible, in My BOOK HOUSE, to give the child the best 
literature obtainable, to gather it from a very wide variety of sources, 
covering many ages and many peoples, that his thought might 
sweep out broadly, to grade all this material as intelligently as we 
could, and to put it forth in such form that it would be irresistible. 

M.cDoa., G.o. 
Little Diamond and the North Wind ............. III: 422 
Gigi and the Magic Ring .................. III: 337 
Madge Magpie ........................ I: 171 
ram TULLVR O-S TO LV Wrn rn rsmsGeorge Eliot . . IV: 213 
aoc norse, Trip--The Arabian Nights ............. IV: 40 
Magpie's Nest, The (An English Folk Tale) ............. I" 178 
Maid Marian ......................... V: 49 
Maid of Beauty (Rainbow Maiden) ............... V: 359 
Maiden-that-beams, The ..................... III: 220 
raLt Mor sor, Tr. by Skeat and Blagden ....... III: 205 
Maliarda ........................... III: 337 
Mammy ........................... I: 151 
Man in the Moon, The ..................... III: 74 
rat wo Lov. Hx OuAn Indian Ta!e of Me. Tacoma ...... III: 261 
Manacita ....................... II: *245 II: I 87 
Ma Qualoan .......................... III: 197 
cnWilliam Cullen Bryant ................. III: 353 
Barber's, The ................... II: * $9 II: 1328 
Old Shellover ....................... I: 150 
Maria ............................ III: 337 
Marianne ........................... III: 112 
Marie ............................ I: 358 
Mjom's AraAtAcThomas Bailey Aldrich .......... II: 260 
Humming Bird, The .................... III: 289 
Maroosia ............................ I I: 3 O0 
Marsile, the Saracen King .................... V: 254 
Mary (Babe of Bethlehem) ................... II: 300 
Mary (A Laughing Song) .................... I: 284 
Marygold .......................... III: 274 
MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMBSarah Josepha Hall .......... I: 254 
Matsu ............................. I: 371 
ravLous rOT, aa.J. Christian Bay ............. III: 69 
Msm, Jom 
Mr. Hampden's Shipwreck ................. V: 264 
rasra o .L Msrs--Joseph Jacobs ............. II: 410 
May-bug, The ......................... II: 414 
Mayrose ............................ III: 408 
Meanwell, Margery (Goody Two-Shoes) .............. II: 133 
Meanwell, Tommy ....................... II: 132 
Medusa ............................ I V: 413 
ra raammsJohn Keats .................. IV: 212 
MLmoHenry Morley .................  . . III: 242 
M-LTt6 eO, aaIsrael Zangwill ................ V: 173 
MEMOIRS OF A WHITE ELEPHANT, TnEJudith Gautier ....... IV: 152 
Men of Galloway, The ..................... V: 281 
Men of Israel, The ....................... III: 257 
ctatr, aaRabindranath Tagore .......... I: * 39 I: $324 
Merchant, The (The Marvelous Pot) ............... III: 69 
Merchant, The (The Sandy Road) ................ II: 200 
Mercury ............................ IV: 412 
Richard Feverel and the Hayrick ............. V: 228 
ESUAN, THEAlfred Tennyson ............... IV: 96 
Merry Sacristan, The ...................... IV: 251 



Home-Coming of Ulysses, The ..... V: 423 
Robert Bruce, Scotland's Hero ....... V: 281 
Boy and the Elf, The (Selma Lagedo ....... III: 438 
Cap That Mother Made, The (Folk Tale) ...... II: 
Elsa and the Ten Elves (Folk Tale) ....... II: -5! 
SWITZERLAND. See aso Alps 
William Tell, The Legend of ......... V: -90 
Man Who Loved Hai Qual, The ....... III: .16 
TOLEDO (Spain) 
Cid and His Daughters, The ........ V: 316 
Home-Coming of Ulysses, The ...... V: 
Luck Boy of Toy Valley, The ....... III: 106 
Nuremberg Stove, The . ..... IV: -84 
William Tell, The Legend of ...... V: .90 
ULS-rE (Ireland) 
Cuchulain, the Irish Hound ........ V: 396 
UNITED STATES. See a$o America 
Address to New-Made Citizens, An ..... V: 
Adventures of General Tom Thumb, he . . . IV: 163 
Betsy Ross and the First American Flag. " Ii: -30" II: t293 
eorge Rog Clark and the Conqu of the owes  . . IV." 30 
Young Midshipman David Farragut ...... IV: 354 
VENCIA (Spain) 
Cid and Hs Daughters, The ........ V: 316 
VaAAISO (Chile) 
Mr. Hampden's Shipwreck ........ V: -64 
Young Midshipman David Frraut ...... IV: 354 
Duty That Was Not Paid, The ........ III: 
Luck Boy of the Toy Valley, The ..... III: 106 
VINCENNES (Indiana) 
George Rogers Clark and the Conquest of the Nohwest . IV: 390 
George Rogers Clark and the Conquest of the Northwest . . IV: 390 
Tudur ap Einon (Fok Tale) ...... III: 395 
Adventures of General Tom Thurb, he ...... IV: 163 
Adventures of General Tom Thumb, The . . IV: 163 
WEST. See a$o Northwest 
Coaly-Bay, The Outlaw Hose . . V: 218 
Night Ride in a Prairie Schooner, A . . IV: 183 
Music-Loving Bears, The . . III: 123 
Plains' Call, The . IV: 
YA.MOUTH (England) 
David Copperfield and Little Emy . IV: 98 


M Y B 


0 0 K H 0 U 
Elf and the Dormouse ...... I: 
Right Time to Laugh ...... II: 
ELAND (South African antelope) 
Afar in the Desert ........ III: 
Foolish, Timid, Little Hare .... II: 
Circus Parade .......... II: 
Afar in the Desert ........ III: 
Memoirs of a White Elephant . . . IV: 
Rustem ............ V: 
Exile of Rama .......... V: 
Man Who Loved Hal Quai .... III: 

Fairyfoot ....................... III: 
Thumbelisa ...................... II: 
The Gingerbread Man ................. I: 
Peter Rabbit Decides to Change His Name ........ I: 
Cock, Mouse and Little Red Hen ............ I: 
The Fox and the Stork ................. I: 
Wee Robin's Christmas Song ........... I: "155 I: 
A Story About Little Rabbits .......... II: "151 II: 
The Golden Bird ................... III: 
Winter Neighbors ................... V: 
Right Time to Laugh (Flying Fox) ........... II: 
A Happy Day in the City ............... I: 
GNU (African antelope with a large ox-like head) 
Afar in the Desert ................... III: 
Johnny and the Three Goats .............. I: 
Oeyvind and Marit .................. I: 
Heidi In the Alpine Pasture ............... II: 
Alexander Selkirk ................... IV: 
Little Rabbit That Wanted Red Wings .......... I: 
H.,RE, see also Rabbit 
Little Girl and the Hare ................ I: 
Hare and the Tortoise ................. I: 
Sheep and the Pig That Made a Home .......... I: 
Fooh"sh, Timid, Little Hare ............... II: 
HARTEBEEST (AfriCSJ1 antelope) 
Afar in the Desert ................... III: 
Lullaby for Titania .................. III: 
Afar in the Desert ................... III: 
Rhodopis ....................... III: 
Farmer s Boy ................... I. 187 I: 
Gingerbread Man ................... I: 
Hassan, the Arab, and His Horse ............. II: 




The Arab o His Horse ................. II: 
The Golden Bird ................... III: 
The Ogre Tha Played Jackstraws (Hurricane) ....... III: 
A Nigh Ride in  Prairie Schooner (wild horse) ...... IV: 
Coaly Bay ...................... V: 
Rusem ....................... V: 
Cuchlain ....................... V: 
Duck and the Kangaroo ................ I: 
The Right Time to Laugh ............... II: 
KUDU (large, handsome African antelope, having spiral horns) 
Afar in the Desert .................. III: 
Twin Lambs ..................... I: 
Mary Had a Little Lamb ................ I: 
Farmer's Boy ................. I: * 8 I: 
Snow White and Rose Red ............... II: 
Dame Wiggins of Lee ................. II: 
Dear Sensibility .................... IV: 
Una and the Red Cross Knight ............. V: 
IAon and the Mouse .................. I: 
The Foofish, Timk Little Hare ............. II: 
cus Parade ..................... II: 
 Happy Day n the ty ............... I: 
Una ad the Red oss Knight ............. V: 
MOLE, see also Duck-billed Mole 
Thumbelisa ...................... II: 
MONKEY, see also Ape 
There Was a Monkey ................. I: 
I Went Up One Pair of Stairs .............. I: 
Circus Parade ..................... II: 
Foolish, Timid, Little Hare ............... II: 
How Night Came ................... III: 
A Malayan Monkey Song ............... III: 
MOUSE, see also Field-Mouse 
Dickory, Dickory, Dock ................ I: 
Little Red Hen and the Grain of Wheat .......... I: 
Cat and the Mouse .................. I: 
Belling the Cat .................... I: 
Cock, Mouse and Little Red Hen ............ I: 
Ole-luk-oie ...................... I: 
Lion and the Mouse .................. I: 
I Saw a Ship A-Sailing ................. I: 
Gigi ......................... III: 
Over in the Meadow ........... I: 64 
Peter Rabbit Decides to Change His Name . I: 375 
LiT Hrmbal .............. II: 38 
Right Time to Laugh .......... II: 112 
Dance of the Forest People ........ III: 126 
How Brer Rabbit Met Brer Tar Baby . . . III: 237 
oum (small African antelope, with straight horns) 
Afar in the Desert . . .  ........ III: 226 











BEE, see Insects 
BEETLE, Se Insects 
A PIm of Pm Pkn 100) .......... I: "41 I: 
Babe Moses ................... I: *420 I: 
Noah's Ark ...................... I: 
A Psalm of David (Psalm 23) .............. II: 
Babe of Bethlehem .................. II: 
Feast of Tabernacles .................. II: 
David and Goliath ................... III: 
Gideon, the Warrior .................. IV: 
Daniel in the Lions' Den ................ IV: 
Joseph and His Brethren ................ V: 
BraDS, ee a]o Fowls 
Bird of Paradise ................. II: "151 II: 
There Were Two Blackbirds .............. I: 
The Magpie's Nest .................. I: 
Right Time to Laugh ................. II: 
Over In the Meadow .................. I: 
How the Finch Got Her Colors ............. If: 
Robert of Lincoln ................... III." 
The Lost Spear .................... III: 
Peter Rabbit Decides To Change His Name ....... I: 
Bird of Paradise ................. II: *IS! II: 
Winter Neighbors ................... V: 
Bird of Paradise ................. II: "151 II: 
Peter Rabbit Decides To Change His Name ....... I: 
Crow and Pitcher ................... I: 
Over In the Meadow .................. I: 
Bow wow, Says the Dog ................ I: 
 ' Bow Wow, Says the Dog ......... I: 
Little Maid of Far Japan II: 
 Hansel and Grethel ........... IIh 
Magpie's Nest .............. I: 
- Strange Lands .............. I: 
z Little Gustava ......... ' . I: "162 I: 
Snow White and Rose Red ........ II: 
Daniel O'Rourke ............ III: 
Right Time to Laugh .......... II: 
How the Finch Got Her Colors ............. II: 





278 " 

The Exile of Rama .................. V: 383 
Wee Robin's Christmas Song .......... I: "166 I: #163 
Bird of Paradise ................. II: "151 II: 155 
Bird of Paradise ................ II: "151 II: 
The Humming Bird .................. III: 289 
Alexander Selkirk ................... IV: 328 
Jay and the Peacocks ................. I: 160 
Strange Lands ..................... I: 161 
LiT Hannibal ..................... II: 138 
Winter Neighbors ................... V: 255 
Fairy That Judged Her Neighbors ............ II: 358 
Right Time To Laugh ................. II: 112 
Magpie's Nest ..................... I: 171 
Afar in the Desert ................... III: 226 
There Was An Owl .................. I: 38 
The Owl ....................... II: 24 
Owl's Answer to Tommy ................ I I: 25 
Owl and the Pussy Cat ................. II: 412 
Winter Neighbors .................... V: 255 
Right Time to Laugh ................. II: 112 
How the Brazilian Beetles Got their Gorgeous Coats .... II: 128 
Bird of Paradise ................. II: "151 II: tlSS 
LiT Hannibal ..................... II: 138 
Jay and Peacocks ................... I: 160 
Maggie Tulliver Goes to Live With the Gypsies ...... IV: 213 
Hiawatha's Fasting .................. IV: 381 
Robin Hood ..................... V: 49 
Little Robin Redbreast ................. I: 11 
A Robin and a Robin's Son ............... I: 24 
Wee Robin's Christmas Song .............. I: 163 
Sir Robin ....................... I: 114 
LiT Hannibal ..................... II: 138 
Brooklet's Story ................. II: * 47 II: t 52 
The Sandpiper .................... IV: 115 
The Sea Gull ..................... IV: 84 
Little Gulliver ..................... IV: 85 
Winter Neighbors ..................... V: 265 


T H E 



Used by the Norsemel 
in raidin England 



The Circus Parade ................... II: 386 
General Tom Thumb .................. IV: 163 
A Happy Day in the City ............... I: 396 
City Smoke ..................... I: 417 
Indian Children ................. II: "117 II: t121 
Beyond the Toll-Gate ................. II: 434 
The Fog ....... " ............... III: 251 
The Switch Yard ................... IV: 116 
Clouds ........................ I: 106 
Clouds and Waves ................... I: 107 
The Cloud ...................... III: 273 
A Tropical Morning At Sea ............... III: 209 
The Circus Parade ................... II: 386 
Columbine and Her Playfellows of the Italian Pantomime . Ill: 354 
The Renowned Adventures of Punch and Judy ...... III: 438 
There Was An Old Woman ............... I: 31 
Cobwebs ....................... I: 231 
The Gossamer Spider ................. IV: 193 
COCKATOO, see Birds 
Story of Christopher Columbus ............. II: 204 
Little Nanny Etticoat I: 31 
As lWasGoingToSt, ivs      :  :    :  : I: 37 
Hickamore, Hackamore ................ I: 54 
Intery Mintery .................... I: $0 
COUNTRY see Farm 
Cow, see Animals  
CRAB, See Fish 
CRAWFISH, see Fish 
CRICKET, see Insects 
CUCKOO, see Birds 
CUMULATIVE STORIES, see also Repetitive Stories 
The "Wake-Up" Story ................. I: 71 
The Cat and the Mouse ................ I: t78 
Johnny and the Three Goats .............. I: 80 
The Key of the Kingdom ................. I" 99 
The Gingerbread Man ................. I: 121 
DEER, see Animals 
The Sandy Road ................... II: 200 
Hassan the Arab ................... II: 308 
Afar In The Desert .................. III: 226 
DoG, see Animals 
Doll Under the Briar Rose-bush ............. I: 425 
Nutcracker and Sugardolly ............... II: 91 
Where Sarah Jane's Doll Went .............. III: 86 
DONKEY, See Wnimals 
DORMOUSE, see Animals 



Sea Song from the Shore ............. II: * 40 II: t525 
Four and Twenty Tailors ............... I: 29 
Old Shellover .................... I: 150 
Lulla.b.y for Titania ................... III: 25 
The vioek Turtle's Song ................ IV: 150 
Two Crabs ..................... I: 113 
David Copperfield ................... IV: 98 
Hiawatha's Fasting .................. IV: 381 
Boy's Song ...................... III: 105 
Daniel O'Rourke ................... III: 74 
Mock Turtle's Song .................. IV: 150 
XLAMINGO, Seg Birds 
Daffy down dilly ................... I: 13 
When Daffodils Be,.', to Peer .............. I: 38 
Little Girl, Little Girl .................. I: 26 
How Does My Lad,'s Garden Grow? .......... I: 13 
March Winds and April Showers ............ I: $1 
Baby Seed Song, .................... I: 221 
Who Likes the ain? .................. I: 109 
Spring ........................ I: 302 
Across the Fields ................... I: 327 
Come Little Leaves ................... I: . t326 
Squirrels That Live in a House .......... I: *268 I: 269 
Rosy Posy .................... ,.. I: 192 
Child in a Mexican Garden ............ II: 245 II:  87 
Heidi in the Alpine Pasture ............... II: 277 
My Nicaragua .................... III: 210 
Clytie (sunflower) ................... II: 125 
Legend of the Water Lily ............ II: "118 II: 117 
Her Dairy ...................... III: 81 
Kids ......................... III: 96 
In the Lane ...................... III: 95 
Lost Spear ...................... III: 228 
FLYING FOX, See Animals 
The Fog ....................... III: 251 
FOLK TALES, see General Index, see also Geographical Index under 
various countries 
FOREST, See also Tropical Jungle 
Goldilocks and the Three Bears ............. I: 248 
Squirrels That Live in a House .......... I: *268 I: 269 
Snow White and Rose Red ............... II: 35 
Christening the Baby in Russia ............. 
Hiawatha's Childhood ................ II: 431 
Prince Fairyfoot .................... III: 12 
Sleeping Beauty .................... III: 26 
Hansel and Grethel .......  .......... III: 45 
Dance of the Forest People ............... III: 126 
The Twelve Months .................. III: 145 
Una and The Red Cross Knight ............. V: 12 



{]AMES TO BE PLAYED-.-Conlinued 
Pat-a-cake ...................... I: 3 
This Little Pig .................... I: 3 
hnny Shall Have a New Bonnet ............ I: 4 
ing Around the Roses ................. I: 5 
Pease-Porridge Hot ................... I: 
Ride A Cock-Horse I: 9 
To Market, to Market ................. I: 21 
See-Saw, Margery Daw ................. I: 35 
How Many Miles Is It to Babylon? ........... I: 37 
Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush ......... I: 43 
Going to London ................... I: 75 
Tale of a Black Cat .................. I: 115 
GARDENS, see also Flowers 
My Lady's Garden .................. I: 13 
The Tea Party .................... I: 59 
Child In a Mexican Garden ........... II: *245 II: 87 
Wolfert Webber .................... V: 107 
GIANTS, see also Fairy Tales 
Una and the Red Cross Knight (Orgoglio) ........ V: 12 
Cuchulain ...................... V: 396 

GIRAFFE, see Animals 
GNU, see Animals 
GoosE, see Fowls 
GRASSHOPPER, see Insects 
GROUNDHOG, See Animals 
GUINEA HEN, see Fowls 
Meg Merrilies ..................... IV: 
Maggie Tulliver Goes to Live With the Gypsies ...... IV: 
A Hallowe'en Story ................... I: 352 
Judging By Appearances ................ II: 175 
HARE, see Animals 
HARTEBEEST, see Animals 
HAWK, see Birds 
HEDGEHOG, see Animals 
The Story of Christopher Columbus ........... II: 204 
David and Goliath .................. III: 257 
Gideon ........................ I V: 402 
Daniel ........................ I V: 408 
The Adventures of Alexander Selkirk ........... IV: 328 
Young Midshipman David Farragut ........... IV: 354 
George Rogers Clark .................. IV: 390 
The Story of Alfred, the Saxon .............. V: 80 
Robert Bruce ..................... V: 281 
Joseph and His Brethren ................ V: 294 
The Boy Hero of Harlem ................ II: 184 
William Tell ..................... V: 290 
Roland ........................ V: 300 
Rustem ....................... V: 436 
Th Cid ........................ V: 316 




Little Man as Big as Your Thumb ............ IV: 26 
Knights of the Silver Shield ............... IV: 204 
Adventures of Perseus ................. IV: 412 
Labors of Hercules ................... IV: 423 
Robin Hood 
V: 423 
teumains, the Kitchen Knight ............  V: 327 
Frithjof ....................... V: 338 
Beowolf V: 413 
Cuchulain ....................... 
..................... V: 396 
Exile of Rarna V: 383 
Princess Nelly and the Seneca Chief ........... IV: 363 
Jan of Arc ...................... v: 306 
The Talking Bird ................... IV: 57 
HIPPOPOTAMUS, see Animals 
HOLIDAYS, see Arbor Day, Christmas, Easter, Hallowe'en, Fourth of July, 
May Day, Thanksgiving, Lincoln, Columbus, Washington, Etc. 
HORNBILL, see Birds 

HORNET, see Insects 
HORSE, see Animals 
HUMMING BraD, See Birds 
Three Jovial Huntsmen ...... I: 48 
The Donkey and the Lap-Dog I: 111 
There Was an Old Man With a B'ea'rd" I: 105 
The Purple Cow .......... I: 240 
"It" . .............. I: 179 
The Duck and the Kangaroo ..... I: 373 
Teeny Tiny ............ I: 336 
Quick-Running Squash ....... I 201 
The Firefly and the Apes ...... II: 82 
Bikku Matti ........... II: 394 

Master of all Masters ................. II: 410 
Owl and the Pussy Cat ................. II: 412 
Peeny Pen Pone ............... ". .... II: 182 
Pony Engine and Pacific Express ............ II: 342 
Punch and Judy .................... III: 438 
_Ogre That Played Jackstraws .............. III: 174 
The Pert Fire Engine ................. III: 64 
Her Dairy ...................... III: 81 
Wild Flowers ..................... III: 85 
How Brer Rabbit Met Brer Tar Baby .......... llI: 237 
Daniel O'Rourke ................... III: 74 
Wise Men of Gotham ................. III: 82 
Three Wishes ..................... III: 154 
A Tragic Story ..................... III: 196 
Acorn and the Pumpkin ................. III: 290 
The Squire's Bride ................... IV: 36 
The Three Sillies .................... IV: 80 
Steamboat and the Locomotive ............. IV: 117 
Mock Turtle's Song .................. IV: 150 
Dear Sensibility .................... IV: 275 


Over In the Meadow .................. I: 54 
Across the Fields ................... I: 327 
How the Waterfall Came ................ III: 376 
MOLE, ee Animals 
MONKEY, see Animals 
MONSTERS, ee also Dragons and Fairy Tales 
Prince Cherry ..................... III: 326 
Labors of Hercules (Hydra) ............... IV: 423 
Adventures of Perseus (Gorgons) ............ IV: 412 
Una and the Red Cross Knight ............. V: 12 
How Beowulf Delivered Heorot (Fiend) ......... V: 413 
Rustem (Deevs) .................... V: 436 
MONTHS, S also Autumn, Spring, Summer, Winter 
The Twelve Months .................. III: 145 
The Month of March ................. III: 348 
March ........................ III: 353 
Son. On a May Morning ................ III: 31 
April ......................... III: 394 
Moon, So Round and Yellow .............. I: 68 
A Daring Prince .................... I: 100 
What the Moon Saw .................. I: 69 
What Else the Moon Saw ................ I: 101 
Old Shellover ..................... I: 150 
Boy Who Wanted The Impossible ............ I: 388 
Hiawatha's Childhood ................. II: 431 
Judging By Appearances 
Moon's theNorthWind'soly" : : : : : : : : : : : : II:II: 411 175 
Daniel O'Rourke ................... III: 7 
The Moon-Maiden ................... III: 179 
Adventures of Yehl .................. III: 220 
Assembling of the Fays ................. IIl: II 
Mr. Moon ...................... III: 32 
The Three Sillies ................... IV: 80 
MosQuITo, see Insects 
MOTH, ee Insects 
Little Engine That Could ................ I: 193 
Ba.r., a Dog of the Alps ............. II: * 87 II: $ 88 
Heidt in the Al,ine Pasture ............... II: 277 
Moon-Maiden (Fujiyama) ............... III: 179 
The Man Who Loved Hal Quai (Mt. Tacoma) ...... III: 216 
How the Waterfall Came to the Thirsting Mountains 
(Carpathians) ................... III: 376 
Luck Boy of Toy Valley (Tyrolean Alps) ......... III: 106 
Roland (Pyrenees) ................... V: 300 
William Tell (Swiss Alps) ................ V: 290 
Whi Aster ...................... V: 373 
Exile of Rama ..................... V: 383 
Mous% see Animals 
Duty That Was Not Paid (Mozart) ........... III: 112 
Music-Loving Bears .................. III: 123 
Dance of the Forest People ............... III: 126 
MUSKRAT, s Animals 


Biklm Matti ..................... II: 394 
Little Nell and Mrs. Jarley ............... III: 130 
Renowned Adventures of Punch and Judy ......... III: 438 
QUAGGA, Se Animals 
RABBIT, se Animals 
RACCOON, $ Anh'nals 
Rain, rain go away ...... I: 40 
Who Likes the Rain? I: 109 
Rain in Summer ........ II: 203 

The Girl and the Hare ................. I: 241 
Bow That Bridges Heaven ............... I: 298 
Noah's Ark ...................... I: 295 
Hiawatha's Childhood ................. II: 431 
Hercules ....................... IV: 423 
Kalevala ....................... V: 359 
RAT, see Animals 
REALISTIC STORIES, (stories that might have been true) See a/so True 
What the Moon Saw ..... : ............ I: 69 
What Else the Moon Saw ................ I: 101 
Mrs. Tabby Gray ................... I: 180 
Noah's Ark ...................... I: 29S 
How the Home Was Built .............. I: 285 
Oeyvind and Marit .................. I: 358 
Hap, p Day in the Cit, ................ I: 396 
Doll under the Briar tosebush ............. I: 425 
Beyond the Toll-Gate ................. I I: 434 
Heidi in the Alpine Pasture ............... II: 277 
Piccola ....................... I I: 303 
Ikwa and Armowee .................. II: 388 
Bikku Matti ..................... II: 394 
Christening the Baby In Russia ............. II: 218 
The Story of a Beaver ................. III: 117 
Where Sarah Jane's Doll Went .............. III: 86 
A Credit to the School ................. III: 98 
Luck Boy of Toy Valley ................ III: 106 
Little Nell and Mrs. Jarley's Wax Works ......... III: 130 
David Copperfield and Little Em'ly ........... IV: 98 
The Booms ...................... IV: 124 
The Sugar Camp ................... IV: 143 
Night Ride in a Prairie Schooner ............. IV: 183 
Maggie Tulliver Goes To Live With the Gypsies ...... IV: 213 
The Nuremberg Stove ................. IV: 284 
The Secret Door .................... IV: 315 
Robin Hood ..................... V: 49 
Melting Pot ...................... V: 173 
Coaly Bay ...................... V: 218 
Richard Feverel and the Hayrick ............. V: 228 
Mr. Hampden's Shipwreck ............... V: 264 
Wolfert Webber .................... V: 107 
The Cid ....................... V: 316 
Beaumains ...................... V: 327 
Frithjof ....................... V: 338 
White Aster ...................... V: 373 


I am weary o. seeing this subject of education always teated 
as i. "education" only meant teaching children to wite or to cilhe 
or to eleat the catechism. Real education, the education which 
alone should be comlulsoy means nothing of the kind. It means 
teaching children to be clean, active, honest and useful.John Ruskin. 
Real education certainly is a spiritual as well as an intellec- 
tual process. It certainly does mean guiding children to see 
clearly the distinction between good and evil, fight and wrong, 
moving them deeply with sympathy for the good and repugnance 
for the evil, and inspiring them to act in accordance with these 
perceptions. This is rarely accomplished by preaching at chil- 
dren or moralizing to them. But all good stories and books 
have recorded naturally and most often unconsciously the re- 
action of the author or story-teller to various human qualities 
and types of human disposition, and through his art, indeed by 
his very unconsciousness of what he is accomplishing, the story- 
teller makes the child feel deeply lust what he has felt. If the 
author has felt affectation, artificiality, boastfulness, conceit, as 
ridiculous qualities, he makes them ridiculous; if he has felt 
cold self-righteousness, cowardice, dishonesty, hypocrisy, treach- 
ery as ugly qualities, he has made them ugly, and the child 
vigorously separates himself from them and refuses them as he 
reads; if he has felt courage, compassion, loyalty, truth, devo- 
tion, perseverance, purpose as splendid qualities, he has made 


them splendid and the child has felt them to be splendid and 
desired to possess them in every fibre of his being. It is not 
that such an author tells the child these qualities are thus and so, 
whereby he could do no more than make a pin prick of an im- 
pression on his intellect; he moves him to feel that they are 
so in the very depths of his spirit wherein he truly lives and 

moves and has his 
a lasting impres- 
It is thus that 
books and stories 
ideals. But besides 
of their standards 
a specific use which 
or teacher may 
of the stories. If 
unkind and dis- 
him such a story 
monds without any 
ever, is often the 
edy for the trouble. 

A man is not ed- 
ucated because he buys 
a book; he is not ed- 
ucated because he reads 
a book, though it should 
be the very best book 
that ever was written, 
and should enumerate 
and unfold all the law 
of God. He only is 
educated who practices 
according to the laws of 
God.--Ho.race Mann. 

being, and so leaves 
sion upon him 
truly worth-while 
mould children's 
this general shaping 
there is an addition 
the father, mother 
occasionally make 
a child has been 
courteous, to read 
as Toads and Dia- 
comment whatso- 
most effective rem- 
If he has been un- 

loving, the beautiful story of the love of little Snow White and Rose 
Red for one another may do more for him than worlds of preaching. 
And so, quite without spoiling the stories, or detracting at 
all from their right purpose to amuse and entertain, one may 
often make this particular use of them with remarkably good 
results. It is to meet this particular need in the most intelligent 
way and in answer to many requests that the following Index 
According to Ethical Theme has been prepared. 

To live for common ends is to be common, 
The highest faith makes still the highest man, 
For we grow like the things that we believe, 
And rise or sink as we aim high or low.--Robert Browning. 


(Visionary Sckeme . Cm Sse) 
Wolfe Webb ......... V: 107 
Coaly-Bay ......... V: 218 
Stanz on Fmo .... : ...... V: 216 
Bnkb ............ V: 289 
( ad 
Oed and Mat ....... I: 358 
Dad Coppeeld and ittlEm;ly ........ IV: 98 
Fthjof (Fthjof d Ingeborg) ......... V: 338 
G rad of the yg Ship ........ III: 
Fthiof (Be and Ts) ........ V: 338 
Cuchula V: 396 
(Ch a Es) 
Beyond the To-gate ......... II: 434 
The Tle o Could Not Stop Talg ..... I: 222 
The Six Swans ..... III: 363 
ce Faft III: 12 
The Duty That Was Not Paid . . III: 112 
Mage Tulliver G to Live Wih th Gpsi (ag) . IV: 213 
The Cid ..... V: 316 
The Wd d the Sun ...... I: 119 
Cderella . . II: 1 
To o . " " " 
The Twelve Months ..... III: 145 
Pigling d Her Proud iste .... III: 191 
Yehl d the Bming Mden, dvetur of . . . III: 220 
Cfley Nag ...... I: 
Little Jack Hoer . . . I: 27 
Nutccker d Sugdoy ........ II: 91 
Hansel d Gthel .... III: 
Pce Harweda ....... III: 34 
The Sher d the Elv ....... I: 346 
The Lion d the Mouse . I: 148 
Pm of Prse ...... : 49" I: 423 
Ft of Tabel . . II: 257 
We Thk Th ...... II: 259 
Two Bad Bga ......... III: 369 
e st S ......... III: 228 
Deg in the Mg ......... I: 157 
The Maelous Pot ........ III: 69 
y The  Is t ......... III: 159 
The Golden Touch . III: 274 
T  o d  V . " 
Joy d the T G ........ I:  80 


There's a Nt Little Clk .......... I: 56 
st the Mn Saw ........ I: 69 
The T P . . . I: 59 
The Cg of e  ....... II: 74 
How e F t H Col ........ II: 22 
The Ms at bor ....... II: *342 
e Bd of Paradi . . I: 151" II: 155 
OBEDIENCE, $ee also b " " " 
A Sto At Lithe Rsbbi ..... II: 145" II: 161 
TheCid . V: 316 
Bus, then'iht . "     " " V: 327 
Rama V: 383 
o,vxo,  o y ot  ..... 
B and H Bro . . . II: 237 
Wt Nghbom ....... V: 255 
Snow i d R R ....... II:  35 
edk . . IV: 328 
rge Rog Clark ......... IV: 390 
exd lk ........ IV: 328 
Mr. Haman's Shipk ......... V: 2 
Rob Bce ....... V: 281 
The mr's New Clo ....... V: 
PASaO, ee so Rage, Tem 
exd k ........ IV: 328 
ard Fevel ........ V: 228 
ma ............ V: 383 
The Crow d e Pi .......... I: 130 
Lile Drops of Wa ....... I: 131 
e Hare d e T ........ I: 299 
e le Ene That d .... I: 193 
T Ag ...... I: 2 
rough a ole ........ III: 384 
Hes ........... IV: 423 
Rob Bm ......... V: 281 
The Flag G By ...... I: 293 
y R d th t  vig ...... d: 2ab* X: ,29a 
rge Rm Ck ..... IV: 390 
Yog Midspman David Ft ..... IV: 354 
The New lus ....... V: 172 
The Mg Pot ......... V: 173 
- S on Fdm ........ V: 216 
Ad  New-Made i ....... V: 217 
Ro Bm ............. V: 281 
Bkbum ............ V: 289 
Wm Tell ........... V: 290 
J of  .............. V: 306 
PAce z QuT 
How Night e ......... III: 211 

t J